


The Hunger Games - Peeta's Story

by nerdsaretotallyawesome



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: 74th Hunger Games, Alternative Perspective, Book/Movie 1: The Hunger Games, F/M, Gen, Hunger Games-Typical Death/Violence, POV First Person, POV Peeta Mellark, Panem, Peeta needs to be protected
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:42:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 28
Words: 76,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28047876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdsaretotallyawesome/pseuds/nerdsaretotallyawesome
Summary: Five times. Only five slips of paper with my name on it. A mantra in my head that loops and loops in the endless seconds she takes to read out the name. Only five. Only five. When she does, the world stops turning.Because it’s me.The Hunger Games from Peeta's perspective.
Relationships: Katniss Everdeen/Peeta Mellark
Comments: 62
Kudos: 100





	1. Reaping Day

**Author's Note:**

> I started this as a quarantine project and wanted to publish the first chapter to see if other people like this. If you do, please leave me a comment or kudo! I've loved Peeta since I first read the books and I really want to explore his side of the story.

The morning light shines hot and bright on my face when I wake up. I stir, shielding my eyes with my arm, blinking a few times to make out my surroundings. The bed next to mine is empty, meaning my brother is already up. Briefly, I panic. Have I somehow missed my mother’s shouts? I sit up and start dressing myself until my arms still. Of course. Today is the day of the reaping.

I take off my hastily clad shirt and instead put on the same outfit I always put on on reaping day: a plain white shirt, brown dress pants that are hand-me-downs from both of my brothers, and the only pair of nice shoes I own. I comb my hair so the unruly waves would stay where they are, but before I leave the room, they’ve already escaped their form.

Downstairs, I find my dad at our small kitchen table at the back of the bakery, dipping a hunk of stale bread into his tea. My mother is nowhere to be found, meaning she either is out of the house or still asleep. The shop isn’t open on reaping days because of government protocol, and she’s always on edge because of it. You’d think it’s because she’s scared one of her children might become a tribute, but no. It’s a day of loss for the bakery. I tell myself it’s normal, she’s a merchant for a reason, but it still stings to know it’s true.  
“Morning.” I say as I take my place at the table. I take a piece of bread for myself and dunk it in the lukewarm tea out of the pitcher. We never eat the good bread we make; instead, we eat the scraps that have been left out so long that no one except the pigs still want them. My dad gives a wan smile as a way of reply. He speaks rarely and prefers to let my mother do the talking. Sometimes I wonder whether he has a voice at all. I try to get down the meager meal as my brother and mother walk in, my brother dressed in his nicer clothes and my mother with a stern frown on her face.  
“Peeta, go fetch your brother’s spare shirt from the dresser. He’s managed to soil it in the time we went to the square.” I get up from my chair. I always get to do these tasks around the house, probably because I’m the youngest. I don’t necessarily mind this, because in a way it makes me useful, but sometimes it would be nice to not run around all day. In my room, I can hear my mother’s voice through the floorboards. She’s loudly complaining to my father about the state of the square, the cameras, the vultures betting on the children. I don’t hear any replies. Usually my dad just lets her rage. And she rages often.

I run back down with a new shirt, which my brother takes with a small ‘thanks’. He sits down at the table and starts eating. He’s eighteen; his last year being eligible for the reaping. Because of my mother’s pride, we don’t take tesserae. We’re a baker’s family, so the meager grain we would receive is not new from the grain we have in the house, anyway. This means that his name is in there seven times. Mine’s in there five. They’re good odds, if anything. I see the children from the Seam at school, their worn out faces and skinny limbs. I don’t want to imagine how many times their names are in. I shake myself out of the thought as my mother hands me some loaves of bread so stale not even we can eat them anymore. As if on command, I turn around and go to our small backyard where we keep two pigs. I toss them the rocks of bread and watch them sniff at them. They’re apprehensive at first and attack them a moment later. While I’m outside, I take a moment to stand and close my eyes. Reaping days are strange. Of course there’s the dread of hearing your own name pour out of the speakers, but it’s also strange to see how District 12 shuts down completely. The stores in our small main street all have their shutters closed, people don’t generally walk the streets, and every child has to take a breath and go to their slaughter. It’s not fair, these games. Of course they’re not. I rage quietly inside myself for a minute, just a minute, until I can compose myself enough to go back in. Truly, I should count myself lucky. I’m in with the best odds I could possibly have. But still, the fear sometimes grips me.

“Ah, Peeta! I was just telling your brother about tonight. Your father traded some meat with that Everdeen girl so we’ll be having stew.” She says over her cup of tea. I blink, looking at my dad. I know he trades with hunters sometimes, and it puts something else on the table since we can barely afford the good butcher’s meat. But it’s the name that takes me aback. I know Katniss Everdeen from school, and I know she hunts. Everyone in District 12 knows. The fact that my father spoke to her sends some kind of jitter down my spine. She was probably at the door in the backyard not long ago.  
“That’s great! Stew is great.” I say, smiling at my parents. We don’t usually have anything special, but on days like these they make an exception. Even my mom’s gaze softens for a small moment. 

I fill the rest of the morning with preparing the bakery for tomorrow. I set out my supplies and make sure all of our machines are up to standard. I suppose a day like this is a day off for making sure everything is still right. Since I mostly bake the cakes and decorate them, I make sure to clean my decorating supplies. I also roll out pieces of brightly coloured sugar paste that I use to cover the cakes. They need to rest for a while, so it’s good to make them beforehand. The apron I wear protects my clothes from any kind of stains, but over the years I’ve become skilled enough to not spill things anymore.

Before I know it, my mother is calling me to go. I take off my apron, leave out my things the way I like them, and head to the kitchen. My older brother who lives on his own is there to accompany us to the square, where all of us will be present for the reaping. Attendance is mandatory for every citizen of every district. I look in the mirror one last time before leaving and see that my hair has fallen in waves over my forehead. Oh well, it’s not like people will really notice anyway.

It’s close to two o’clock when my brother and I have registered and walked to our designated places in the square. In roped off areas, all of us stand waiting to hear who they’re sending to the Hunger Games this year. I try to take a deep breath and recount that my name is in there five times. Only five. But still. I wipe my sweaty palms on the stiff material of the dress pants and look around. The other boys in my area all have looks of poorly concealed fear on them, much like myself. None of us speak; there’s nothing we can say. My parents and brother stand at the edge of the square, looking intently at the podium where our mayor will soon start his speech. My father gave me a pat on the back before I left and my mother, always the direct type, told me she hopes it’s someone else. She needs me in the bakery. 

I feel sad for us. The smallest children, the twelve year olds, who stand at the very back of the square. They look nothing like the older children at the front; how is it possible that their names could be picked? They wouldn’t stand a chance. I will myself to stop mulling this over but it’s hard; reaping days bring out the worst anxieties you can imagine. 

As I look at the kids, I see her. She’s wearing a blue dress and her hair is intricately braided on top of her head. Katniss Everdeen. My heartbeat, erratic because of nerves, flutters for an instant at the sight of her. She’s walking her sister over to her own roped off area and hugs her tightly. They speak and her sister, Primrose, nods. I look away when Katniss turns around to take her own place. Better she doesn’t see me staring. I’ve been caught a few times before and am always met with a frown. She stands in the area next to me, right at the edge. I look forward again before I forget why I’m here in the first place. Now is not the time for a crush to show its head.

Before me, in front of the Justice Building, stands a temporary stage. Mayor Undersee and District 12’s Capitol representative, Effie Trinket, are sitting on chairs. Her colourful wig is enough to show how much she isn’t from District 12. Normally, the third chair is reserved for a man named Haymitch Abernathy. He won the Games years ago and has been mentoring tributes ever since. He comes to the bakery sometimes. I hear from my mother that she has never seen him sober. It’s no surprise that he didn’t show up.

Mayor Undersee walks toward the microphone at two o’clock sharp and is met with scattered applause. The insectlike Capitol cameras whirl around noiselessly as he clears his throat and starts his speech. It’s the same one every year. Must be boring. I wonder how he must feel, reciting these words to children. I know he has a daughter who’s in this crowd as well. Madge and I haven’t talked a lot, but enough to know her father doesn’t hate this role of announcing the Reaping enough to quit as mayor. I suppose it comes with some perks. He recounts all of the horrible things that have happened to the people of Panem, and ends with how these things somehow result in the Hunger Games. Punishment for unruly districts, a yearly reminder that the Capitol has absolute control. I try to see the best in people when I can, but the people who have designed these games deserve no good word. 

“It is both a time for repentance and a time for thanks”, Mayor Undersee concludes. The square is deadly silent. After allowing enough time for his speech to sink in, he starts listing previous victors from my district. Besides Haymitch, only one other person from 12 has ever won the Games, but they passed away a few years ago. Just as Mayor Undersee starts telling us about Haymitch, the man himself staggers onto the stage and even at this distance it’s clear that he is drunk. Very drunk. He falls into the chair that was left for him and the people around the square murmur. The Mayor seems to find all of this completely embarrassing so he hurries to introduce Effie Trinket and welcomes her to the front of the stage. She graciously comes forward but has to adjust her wig, since Haymitch tries to hug her before she can stand up. She gives us a dazzling smile while holding onto her precarious hair situation. It would be comical in another setting.

“Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favour!” She proudly declares. It’s her token phrase, probably meant to rouse the crowd, but she’s met with forced applause. People from the districts don’t generally take warmly to visitors, especially people like Effie.

“I’m so honoured to stand here before you, District 12! And to accompany your fine tributes to the Games.” Again, applause. Her reception is lukewarm at best, but she doesn’t let that crush her bubbly spirit. She goes on a bit longer in the same vein but ultimately realises that she has to move on to the real part of this speech. There’s only so much forced cheerfulness one can project onto an unwilling crowd. 

It’s time. She trots proudly to one of two big glass bowls that have been placed on either side of the stage. They’re filled with hundreds of small slips of paper. One bowl holds slips with girls’ names and one with boys’ names. 

“Ladies first!” She exclaims, and she lets her gloved hand whirl around delicately in the bowl, as if she’s just choosing a pretty flower she wants to pick. No one but Effie seems to be enjoying this moment. She grabs a slip of paper and you can hear the entire crowd suck in a collective breath as she takes her time to walk back to centre front. She reads out the name and my blood freezes.

“Primrose Everdeen!”


	2. Goodbyes

The people start murmuring their discontent as Primrose Everdeen walks up to the stage. She’s tiny, just twelve years old. Her blond hair catches in the sunlight as she goes, hands balled into fists at her side. She looks like a ghost, ghastly pale. The braids on her shoulders make her look fragile. There’s nothing we can do for her. Until a voice shouts “Prim!” 

I turn around and see Katniss escaping the confines of her area and cry her sister’s name. The anguish in her voice sends a chill down my spine. Katniss runs to her sister’s side and suddenly screams: “I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!” I gasp as the weight of her words sinks in. No.

No. Not her.

People never volunteer here, where being a tribute equals certain death. Still, her look is one of steely determination as the Peacekeepers guide her to the stage and a tall, brown haired boy that must be Gale Hawthorne carries Prim away. She’s crying and gasping for air as Katniss ascends the stage. Everyone in the square is at a loss for words, I see it even in the eyes of the crowd. What Katniss has done is near unprecedented. My breathing becomes shallow as I see her stand there, stoic and dazed. I selfishly think about how she’s going away and I never even got the courage to say two words to her. Now I never will.

Effie introduces her to the crowd and asks her name. Her voice sounds strangled but contained, as if she’s trying her hardest to keep her emotions in check. 

“I bet my buttons that was your sister?” Effie inquires, and Katniss nods. Effie goes on about how exciting it is to have a volunteer and rouses the crowd to give Katniss a round of applause, but instead comes a gesture I’ve only seen at my grandmother’s funeral. All of the people of District 12 bring the three middle fingers of their left hand to their lips and hold them out to her. I follow suit with trembling hands and join them in silent tribute to a girl who’s done the most extreme act of sacrifice any of us can imagine. She looks touched by this, by these people coming together in defiant solidarity. 

Then, when the tension of the moment seems to reach a climax, Haymitch stumbles onto the stage and starts slurring some words of praise for Katniss, swinging a bottle of alcohol around in his hand. Suddenly every camera is trained on him and Katniss exhales. When Haymitch falls off the stage and is carried away on a stretcher, Effie quickly steps in to get the reaping back on track. You can’t see her skin colour under the layer of makeup she’s wearing, but I’m certain she’s bright red by now. This is her moment of glory, overshadowed by a drunkard. She clears her throat and takes over the microphone again. 

“It’s time to choose our boy tribute!”

Leaving Katniss to stand on stage alone, she walks over briskly to the bowl containing the boys’ names. Suddenly eager to get this over and done with, it seems, she snatches a slip of paper and trots back to the microphone. Five times, I remind myself. Only five slips of paper with my name on it. A mantra in my head that loops and loops in the endless seconds she takes to read out the name. Only five. Only five. When she does, the world stops turning.

Because it’s me.

The boys around me turn and stare as I’m glued to the ground. I can’t look at them, instead staring straight at the ground as I will myself to do something. Tears fill my eyes without me wanting them to; I know it will come across as weak. But the overwhelming realisation that the odds are not and never have been in my favour crushes me. I see Peacekeepers moving and start walking on my own before they come to get me. Better I do this with as much dignity as I can. Walking towards death is a job best done with at least a little sense of self, even as I struggle to get my breathing under control.

As in a daze, I feel my legs carry me towards the stage where I climb the stairs. My knees feel like they might buckle as everyone watches me go. Katniss looks at me and I know she recognises me, it’s clear in her face. We shake hands, as is the custom, and stand next to each other. I’ve never been closer to her but also never further away. Effie comes up to me and starts asking me questions, which I answer as if I were dreaming. I don’t even register the words that come out of my mouth. At the far end of the square I see my own brother, who meets my gaze briefly and then looks at the ground. Family bonds only stretch so far. I know he wouldn’t volunteer for me. I’m okay with that. I don’t think I could muster the courage to do it myself, if the roles were reversed. I’ll never find out.

They play the anthem while the Capitol cameras drink us up. The tributes of District 12, one of them a volunteer, even. I decide that the tears that glisten in my eyes are not a sign of weakness, but a sign of humanity. I’m not a Career tribute, I didn’t train for this. I was picked as an animal to go to slaughter and am allowed to process that however I please. I just wish it weren’t Katniss next to me. If, in the extraordinary circumstance that District 12 has a victor this year, we will never return here together again. Once the Games start, we even become each other’s enemy.

After the anthem has finished, we get one last look at our square before they usher us into the Justice Building. We get some time to say goodbye to family and friends now, and soon I hear my mother’s voice carrying through the building until they’re in the room I’ve been assigned. We don’t hug, but my brothers come up to me first and give me half hugs that make me feel like I’m being squished. One of them apologises for what happened, for not standing up.

“It’s okay, I don’t blame you.” I say, and I truly don’t. My father comes up and pats me on the back a bit more forcefully than he usually would and says: “You do your best.” I nod and try to smile, but the movement feels so ingenuine that I stop. I detect the smallest change of his face, and it looks like grief. Lastly, my mother. 

“Looks like District 12 might finally have a winner this year!” She exclaims, and for a second I’m taken aback by her brisk optimism for me. Until she continues: “She’s a fighter, that one.”

My heart sinks as I realise she’s talking about Katniss. Katniss, and not me. It hits me with clarity that my mother has fully accepted my death already. I don’t respond to what she says and instead prefer the silence to take over. Not long before our time is up, my father steps forward and presses a cloth bag in my hands. I don’t have time to respond because the Peacekeepers escort them away and none of them look back as they leave me alone. The bag rests like a heavy weight in my hand. I decide not to look at it until tonight because I can’t trust my response. I tuck it away in the pocket of my dress pants and sit down, waiting.

No one else comes to visit, not even friends from school. I don’t think they would know what to say. So instead, I stand up from the plushy couch in the middle of the room and walk around. This sitting room is the fanciest place I have ever been in. The soft carpet is so thick my shoes almost disappear in it. I walk around, examining some odds and ends that are scattered on bookshelves. I walk over to one of the windows and find myself at the back of the building, away from the prying eyes of the Capitol. This will be the last time I’m not constantly under surveillance, and even this moment is an illusion because I know there are two Peacekeepers outside my door. I look out over the patch of greenery that constitutes the ‘garden’ of the Justice Building and can’t help but let my mind drift off.

When I was younger, the Hunger Games felt like some distant thing that people only seemed to talk about in hushed whispers. As I grew up, I learned about it and attended all of the reapings. I saw the tremor in my brothers as we walked to the square and the overwhelming relief that same night when all of us would sit around the dinner table, celebrating another year of leaving the reaping safe and sound. The year I turned twelve was the first time I felt what they felt. My first reaping was terrible. The girl who was reaped broke down crying on stage and the Peacekeepers had to drag her inside once the anthem had played. I think back to her now, seeing her in her Games. She was killed on the first day. 

I lean my forehead against the window and close my eyes. I knew there was a chance that it would be me, but I never gave it real thought until right before Effie spoke. And now I’m stuck without having the chance to do anything with my life. Not that I had solid plans, but making them now is no use at all. I feel hot tears pricking in my eyes again and don’t stop them. I mourn, briefly, because I won’t have much time anymore. I almost don’t notice when a sob comes out and I wipe my eyes with my shirtsleeves as the Peacekeepers come to collect me. I don’t bother covering the fact that I’ve cried, my red face gives it away.

I am escorted to a train that’s waiting to take us to the Capitol. Katniss joins me in silence and soon we have boarded. She looks like she’s tuned out to everyone and everything. People have gathered on the small platform; I see my family and look at their faces one last time. The Capitol cameras follow us intently as we stand in front of the windows and the train doors close shut. This is no ordinary train, because as soon as we start, we gain speed so quickly that I have to catch my breath. District 12 moves out of place and then out of focus and soon we’re in the wilderness.

We’re gone as if we were never there at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know your thoughts! I'd love to hear them c:


	3. The Drunk

The tribute train is unlike anything I’ve ever seen. It makes the room in the Justice Building look like a poor attempt at luxury. We each get our own room and bathroom with about a hundred different clothing options in the dresser opposite the bed. The dinner and relaxation cars are so fancy I feel almost too grubby to sit in them.

I take some time to scout my new surroundings, since we’ll only be here for one day. These trains go at such high speeds that we’ll be in the Capitol in no time. I don’t change out of my reaping clothes, opting to keep at least some part of home with me until they take that away, too. The cloth bag needs to be kept safe anyway, so I leave it in my pocket. I look out the train window and see Panem pass me by. I can’t make out any of it, since we aren’t allowed to travel to other districts, but it’s still nice to see at least a little bit of the world before we get thrown into the arena. I find myself shaking thoughts away for the millionth time that day, just as my stomach starts growling. At home, they’ll probably be having the meat my dad traded with Katniss. Would it taste less like a treat now that I’m not there to join them? I selfishly hope it does.

I find the dinner car and see Effie up and about, touching up her makeup. She looks less frazzled than she was at the reaping, but there is something irreparable about how wonky her wig is at this point. 

“Ah, Peeta! How are you finding everything? Isn’t it wonderful? Tuck in to anything you’d like!” Effie says cheerfully, gesturing around the car. I take a good glance around the room and see a buffet table laden with all different kinds of sweets, fruit, and even large bowls of soups. The lavish display makes my stomach growl harder, and Effie’s expecting face leads me to stroll over to the table and pick up a cup to ladle soup into. I take sips from the steaming cup while I walk around the car, taking in the lush carpets and expensive furniture. The leather sofas that form a small sitting corner look so decidedly opulent that I don’t dare sit in them. Effie trots off to do who knows what, which leaves me to walk on to the next car. I discard the cup on a platter by the door. The next one must be the train version of a sitting room, because a large L-shaped couch is in the middle of the space with a big tv against the wall. It makes the small, static-filled tv at home look like a toy. I take another step and hear some stumbling further down. Before I know it, Haymitch is waddling toward me, a bottle in hand. The guy must be flammable at this point.

“Don’t mind me. Off to take a nap.” He slurs, barely looking me in the eyes. I watch him, unmoving, as he drags himself past me and in the direction of the bedrooms. If he’s the one we have to count on for help, we are dead before the Games start.

Not long after I come back, Effie stops me to tell me supper is about to be served. I don’t bother going back to my room and sit down at the table instead. It’s decked out with fine china and cutlery, stacked one on top of the other. The glasses look like they might break if you hold them too firmly. They’re nothing like the chipped cups we have at home. I sit in silence as Effie goes to search Katniss and smooth my hair down to give my hands something to do.

It’s still a shock to see her this close. She’s walking behind Effie in a new outfit, a gold pin attached to her shirt. She doesn’t look at me as she sits down and I wish she would. I want to know her at least a little before we have to fight each other. I want to show her that in another life, we could have gotten along. But there’s no use forcing anything, so I just opt to be myself.

“Where’s Haymitch?” Effie asks cheerfully.

“Last time I saw him, he said he was going to take a nap.” I reply. My throat is hoarse from not speaking for a little while. I clear it while Effie says: “Well, it’s been an exhausting day.” I want to snort at her remark but stop myself. I’m sure it’s exhausting being hammered all the time. 

Supper is served in courses and each one is more lavish than the next. Katniss and I stuff our faces with rice, bread, soup, salad and mashed potatoes. Effie keeps telling us there’s more to come. This food is unlike anything I’ve ever tasted before. Like the Capitol keeps all the real flavours for themselves. I appreciate the different kinds of bread they have, even if it makes me think of home and home makes me think of, well, dying. 

It’s when Effie makes a remark about our table manners that Katniss seems to lose her nerve. She makes a point of cleaning out her plate with her fingers and licks it for good measure. I conceal a smile as she observes Effie’s disappointed look. My glee is short-lived, though, because I’ve definitely overeaten and moving feels like it might make me sick. I look at Katniss and it’s the first time we make eye contact since the reaping. Too bad we’re both looking green. I want to crack a joke but decide against it, unsure of how she would respond.

After dinner, we watch a recap of the reapings all over Panem. As expected, the Career Districts all produce well-trained and well-fed tributes who look like they kill for pleasure. It makes me nauseous to see the boy from 2, Cato, pump his fist in the air triumphantly. He’s about my age, but even on the screen I can see how much bigger he is than me. Other Districts show a red-haired girl, a scared looking boy from 5 and most heartbreakingly, a very young girl from 11. The odds weren’t in her favour, either. Effie is complaining about Haymitch’s absence and overt drunkenness while I try to process that these people will be trying to kill me in a few days’ time.

“He’s always drunk.” I retort, remembering all the times I’ve seen him stagger through District 12. It’s frustrating that he’s the only one we can count on. Effie’s main role here is to get us places.

Just as the anthem plays at the end of the recap, Haymitch shows up even drunker than before and asks if he missed supper. He barely finishes his sentence before throwing up violently in the middle of the room and passing out in the puddle. Effie’s noises of disgust fill the air, but not as much as the sickening concoction Haymitch just produced does. As she storms off, I’m left wondering how we’ll even make it to the Capitol.

Katniss helps me drag him to his room after we debate about what to do with him. It’s almost comical how we help him into the shower. Almost. Nothing but half conscious murmurs come out of Haymitch’s mouth as I clean him. I offered to do it, because at least then Katniss doesn’t have to. Nor do I want the Avoxes to do it. I don’t trust them, and I bet Haymitch doesn’t either. Even if I do horrible things in the arena in a week’s time, at least this act of kindness is something I can do right now. Not that Haymitch will remember this. 

When I make it to my room, grubby and smelly and tired, I think I might take a shower. As I step out of my dress pants, they fall on the floor with a thud. It’s not until I pick them up that I remember my father’s gift. I lay it down on the bed before washing myself, trying to figure out how to work the shower. The bathtub we have at home doesn’t have a spray like this and it’s nice to feel the water running down my back. Like warm rain. Only it’s mixed with these sickening scents that turn the shower into an assault on my senses.

The cloth bag rests heavy in my palm and I briefly consider not opening it. What good could it do me? Taking a deep breath, I open the drawstrings and find five small sugar cookies. They’re the kind my dad leaves me to do, because they require careful icing in different colours. Seeing them catapults me back to the kitchen at home, the smell of yeast and the sweetness of sugar paste. I’ve only had little nips and bites over the years, because ruining a cookie is bad for business. Having five of them for myself feels somehow illegal. I can’t bear to eat one now. My dinner is still a brick on my stomach and this fleeting part of home is all I have. Strangely, I feel like crying but no tears will come. I’ve used them all up earlier today, it seems. I pass out on the bed in a shirt that is softer than anything I’ve ever owned and somehow hope that I don’t wake up here tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, please leave me a comment if you want! c:


	4. Arrival

Grey light filters through the curtains as Effie raps on the door. 

“Up, up, up! It’s going to be a big, big, big day!” I groan as she walks past my room, her heels clacking on the wooden floors of the train. I wonder how she manages to be so bubbly all the time, as if she can turn on a switch at a moment’s notice. 

I find a clean pair of pants and a shirt from one of the many drawers in the dresser and get dressed slowly. The cloth bag moves with me to these new pants so I can keep the cookies safe. I plan to hold onto these until we’re in the Training Centre. Today is the last day on the train before we reach the Capitol and meet our stylists. They’re the people who will introduce us as tributes to the Capitol before we start training. So this is the last day of peace and relative quiet we’ll have.

Haymitch is sipping from a glass with red juice in it when I enter the dining car. He looks a bit better than when I put him to bed last night, but yesterday is still visible in the redness of his face. 

“Mornin’.” He says, only a little less slurred than usual. Is he still drunk? I tell him good morning and sit down opposite Effie, who already looks like she’s losing her patience. She’s pouring herself a cup of black liquid that can’t be anything but coffee by the smell of it. Her hair today is a vivid green, so unnatural that it takes my eyes a second to adjust to it. I don’t want to know how many wigs she brought for just this trip. Strangely, though, it suits her.

“What a day yesterday, huh?” Haymitch starts, chuckling. “Quite a reaping.” He must be talking about Katniss’ volunteering, but Effie takes it differently.

“Yes, very eventful.” She says politely. Haymitch laughs and takes another sip of his drink. From the way he acts after every swallow, it must be alcohol. Meanwhile, a server sets a steaming cup of a brown liquid in front of my breakfast and I glance curiously at it. I’ve never had something like this before. It’s not coffee; we have that at home. I cautiously hold it to my mouth and sniff. It’s sweet and creamy, but not like milk with honey. 

“Haven’t you had this before?” Effie asks, seeing me with the drink.

“Try it. It’s hot chocolate! Do be cautious, though. It’s quite rich, if you know what I mean.” I’m guessing she means it’s going to be heavy, but I can’t be sure. Effie lives on an entirely different level from me. I’ve only seen her take small bites of the food we get, like she’s scared of eating too much. I guess Capitol people have the luxury of turning food down. Deciding to just go for it, I take a sip of the hot chocolate and almost moan at how good it is. It’s rich indeed, but in the best way. I set the cup down and grab a roll of bread to dip into the drink. It’s so good that I almost drown out Effie and Haymitch’s conversation.

“Gotta provide the entertainment, sweetheart.” Haymitch says, which makes Effie huff.

“That’s one word for it. I hope you learned your lesson after the stunt you pulled last night.” Effie must be referring to the vomiting, but Haymitch seems not to care about any of it. It’s like they’re on two different planets.

“Peeta helped me out just fine, didn’t you?” Haymitch says, and I don’t want to be a part of this conversation anymore. It’s bad enough that he needed to be helped like that, and now he’s gloating at the fact. Effie seems to have heard enough and picks up her coffee while muttering some insults directed at Haymitch. Just as she exits the car, Katniss comes in. Haymitch is still laughing about it all and I feel flustered about him acting so nonchalantly about the situation. As if he doesn’t care that he was so drunk he couldn’t get to bed by himself. 

Katniss sits down next to me as Haymitch beckons her. She’s eyeing the cup in front of her as servers present her with the enormous plate of food that counts as breakfast here.

“They call it hot chocolate,” I say “It’s good.” I watch her try some of it and see the same reaction on her face as I had. She immediately finishes the entire cup before starting on her food. She looks relaxed, almost at ease as she savours the hot chocolate. During breakfast, I try to eat as much food as I can hold down while Katniss seems to do the same. I’m not underfed, but it never hurts to put on a few pounds before going into the arena. Who knows how scarce food will be. Haymitch, on the other hand, seems to be interested only in his red juice. I watch him over the table, downing one glass after another. At this rate, he’ll be passed out drunk by noon. This is not the kind of mentor I would have hoped for. Katniss pushes away her plate while I continue with another cup of hot chocolate, wanting to savour as much of it as possible. 

“So, you’re supposed to give us advice.” She speaks up. It’s the first time Haymitch’s mentor role is really brought up. It doesn’t surprise me that Katniss speaks about it first. She’s the fighter out of the two of us.

“Here’s some advice. Stay alive.” Haymitch replies, before bursting out laughing. My blood starts to boil as he laughs with glee, oblivious to us. This is all the same to him. Same tributes every year, just different faces. Like our lives are no different than any of the other tributes that have come before us. Katniss looks at me before quickly turning her gaze away, as if she didn’t mean to do it. It sends another pang of emotions through me, heightening my senses to what’s happening.

“That’s very funny.” I say. I don’t think, and before I know it, I lash out at Haymitch, knocking the glass straight out of his hand. It breaks on the floor and the liquid starts spilling down the floor of the train.

“Only not to us.” I see red as I say it, willing Haymitch to snap out of this haze. His utter lack of interest is not only arrogant, but dangerous. He needs to help us if we want to have any chance. I don’t even care that he won’t help me, but I can’t let him be careless for Katniss, too. I look him in the eyes when all of a sudden, he hits me square in the jaw. I fall to the ground and meet the carpet as pain shoots through my skull. Katniss and Haymitch seem to have an altercation of their own while I find my footing and gingerly sit back on the chair, my face burning and throbbing with every beat of my heart. A knife is planted in the wooden table in front of Haymitch and he is looking at us with wide eyes. It’s the first time he actually seems to see us.

“Well, what’s this? Did I actually get a pair of fighters this year?” The surprise is apparent in the way he says it. I reach out to a tureen filled with fruit and grab a handful of ice, intending to hold it to my face.

“No, let the bruise show.” Haymitch explains how it’ll make me look tough, like I’ve already been in a fight with another tribute. He doesn’t know that I’ve only ever fought mosquitoes, and not even successfully.

“That’s against the rules.” I counter, dropping the ice on my plate. The ice is already melting in my sweaty palm, leaving my hand wet and cold. I wipe it on my pants, feeling the chill seep through the fabric and onto my thigh.

“Only if they catch you.” He counters. I consider what he’s saying and decide I might as well just let it go. A grim thought crosses my mind: a bruise is the most harmless injury I’ll ever receive compared to what awaits me in the arena. I shake the thoughts of that place away and find Katniss and Haymitch in a discussion about Katniss’ fighting abilities. I know she’s a hunter, so she must be good with weapons. I’ve never seen her hunt before, not even sure where she goes and how she does it. She just shows up to trade what she hunted for things in the bakery, usually squirrels or rabbits. Katniss is now standing up, grabbing the knife she slammed into the table and yanking it out. Without hesitation, she throws it at the wall across the room. It seamlessly catches in the space between two panels. It’s an incredible throw. I look between her and Haymitch as I’m confronted with my own inability to do anything but use paint brushes and piping bags. 

“Stand over there, both of you.” Haymitch beckons, and we follow his lead. Standing in the middle of the room, he circles around us, inspecting every inch, as if we’re cattle he might buy. I’ve never felt this exposed before, although I’m sure that’ll only get worse. Haymitch concludes that we’re not hopeless. That’s something. 

“Once the stylists get hold of you, you’ll be attractive enough.” Of course; attractive tributes pull more sponsors. It’s an unspoken rule of the Games. The stylists will make sure to make us as presentable as possible. They’ll have their job cut out for them with me.

Haymitch gives us a deal: we don’t interfere with his drinking, and he’ll stay sober enough to help us. That seems fair enough. At least we’ll have an actual mentor this way. For some reason, it gives me hope that we’ll have a fighting chance, which is ridiculous. Even with the best mentor, there’s no way I’m making it out alive. I’m surprised at how effortlessly the thought crosses my mind.

My family seem to have accepted my death, and now I have, too. So what am I doing? I look over to Katniss while she’s asking Haymitch about Cornucopia strategy and he’s shooting her down because the train is about to arrive in the Capitol. If I’m not going in there for myself, I realise, I’m going in there for her. I’ll fight for her. Even if she doesn’t know I am, or doesn’t want me to. It’s no use telling her, either. She seems like the kind of person who likes to repay her debts, and this is one she could never repay me. But if I’m really honest with myself, it’s the only option. I don’t have the skills to make it out of the arena, but Katniss does. The only way I can do something worthwhile is to help her. She has her sister and mother. If I die protecting Katniss Everdeen, I will gladly do so. 

Haymitch leaves us alone, taking a bottle of spirits with him. I want to sigh at how he’s acting, but stop myself. He’ll try, that’s the deal. We don’t have any other choice but to trust him. The outside world goes dark, as if night has fallen all of a sudden. We must be arriving. 

Katniss and I don’t speak as we wait. When the light finally returns, neither of us can help running to the windows. I’ve only seen the Capitol on television and it didn’t do it justice. The glittering city has buildings higher than I can even conjure up and the people are dressed so vividly that I think they’re mirages at first. They look like the sugar pastes I make, all of these people. Some of them look almost frightening with their hair and clothes, but all of them exude the same thing. They’re all artificial. As we pull into the station, they look and point at us. My mother would scream at how rude they are, but we’re not people to them. We’re entertainment of the highest degree. Still, I grit my teeth and hold my ground at the window as Katniss retreats. If I want to protect her, they need to see me. I smile at them and wave, plastering the biggest smile on my face that I can muster. I can feel Katniss’s disapproving gaze. I stop once we roll into the station, out of their vision.

“Who knows?” I say, turning around. “One of them may be rich.” Katniss doesn’t agree with what I’m doing, and that’s fine. I ignore the pang in my chest as her eyes betray her disgust with me.

Sponsors can help us out in the arena, and if even one of these people sends me anything, it’ll bring me closer to my goal. And I’ll do everything in my power to reach it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm having so much fun writing this and I'd like to hear if you're enjoying reading!!


	5. Opening Ceremony

A woman with green skin is ripping out all of my body hair. 

“Sorry! Just one leg to go!” She chirps in her strange accent, and I nod and wait for another rip of pain. I’m lying down on a metal slab as three Capitol prep team members prepare me to see my stylist. I didn’t quite catch their names, but I’m pretty sure one of them is called Gaius. They inspect and change something about every part of my body; it’s like they’re wiping me clean so they can repaint me again. I don’t care that they see me or change my appearance. Growing up, I didn’t always have the luxury of privacy. And if anything, I can pretend that they’re not actually real. Maybe it’s better that way. They’re here to fix me up for the stylist and prep me for the televised bits before the Games start. After that, I’m never seeing them again. 

“All done! You’ve done a marvellous job, so still!” A golden haired woman says. I feel like a puppy who put up his paw at his owner’s command. I nod at her and try to force a smile. 

“Thank you for your work.” I say to them. “You’ve made me look the best I ever have.” I lie smoothly, but maybe it’s true. My fingernails surely never have been this well manicured. They all puff up like peacocks and thank me before leaving the room. It’s best to be civil to them for as long as I have left. They might like me enough to help me.

Five minutes after the prep team leaves, the door opens and reveals my stylist. She smiles immediately as she sees me, and the kindness in her eyes surprises me. Her dark skin is accented by the flecks of colour in her hair, all toned down colours like burgundy and navy blue. The most extravagant feature of her appearance are the fake eyelashes she has on. They’re so wide that they go past her cheekbones, but they suit her in some way. 

“Hello, Peeta. I’m Portia, your stylist.” She holds out her hand for me to shake, and I find myself doing it without hesitation. Her hand is smooth, and she squeezes my hand as if to comfort me.

“Hello, Portia.” I say back, and she nods. She looks relatively young to be a stylist, but maybe that’s why she got District 12. They always start at the bottom of the ladder, and District 12 isn’t known for its winners.

“Let me just take a look at you, okay?” She says, and I simply nod as she circles the slab I sit on and takes me in. It’s the same thing Haymitch did on the train, but the big difference is that I’m very much naked right now. She’s not fazed by any of it, though, and I’m glad for it. 

“Alright. Why don’t you put your robe on. We’ll sit here and have a chat.” She beckons me to two small couches in front of the big window of the room. I do as I’m told and sit down opposite her, overlooking the Capitol. It’s a bright, sunny day, but the air inside is conditioned and cool. She presses a button and food is served on a tabletop that opens up to us. On the plate is a variety of foods: rice, chicken, oranges. It smells heavenly. I’ve never seen food appear like that before. How odd it is that it’s normal here to get food at the push of a button, while District 12’s population is largely starving to death under the Capitol’s watchful gaze. I take a small bite as Portia starts explaining her idea.

“So, Peeta. My partner Cinna is the stylist for your fellow tribute. And we’d like to put you in matching outfits. As you know, it’s the custom to dress tributes in their district’s industry.” She starts.

“Yeah, tributes from 12 are always coal miners.” I respond, and she nods sagely. District 12 is always decked out in coal miner outfits in some shape or form. The costumes never look quite right and no one except for the people of District 12 seem to remember the tributes by the end of the parade.

“Yes, well, we’d like to change it up a bit. Instead of focusing on the mining, we want to focus on the coal itself.” Oh no.

“So you’ll put coal on us?” I ask, and the thought of being paraded around in nothing but black powder does intimidate me somewhat. 

“Not quite. See, Cinna brought up a point. Coal isn’t just coal, we use it to warm our homes. So, we burn it.” Burn it? 

“Are you afraid of fire, Peeta?” I shake my head and reply: “I work in a bakery at home. Fire’s a companion.” She smiles and nods approvingly. She really does seem kind.

“Then let’s get you ready.” 

A few hours later, I’m wearing a black unitard that covers me from neck to toe. I’ve gotten shiny black combat boots that squeak a little every time I take a step. It’s the cape that brings it all together, though. I look over my shoulder and catch sight of the red, yellow and orange colours of the fabric. The plan is to light it on fire right before our chariot leaves from the stable, along with the headdress that’s on top of my hair. The entire prep team seems beside themselves with excitement, and I suppose it’s a big moment for them. Portia explained that the fire is synthetic and isn’t actually capable of burning us. I hope they tested it out enough times to be so sure, because I know from experience that fire can do some serious damage.

“You’ll light up the night. Everyone will look at you.” She says encouragingly. When she asked if I was scared of fire, I thought she was just asking it to be funny. Turns out I was wrong.

“I’m sure they will.” I assure her, for her sake more than mine. I’m already thinking about how to get out of the cape if things go wrong. It seems light enough, maybe ripping it off could work.

We take an elevator down to the stables where the chariots are. Stylist teams and tributes are scattered around everywhere, applying finishing touches to outfits. The tributes from the first couple of districts are readying themselves to ride off and I catch glimpses of their costumes. Ours seem boring compared to them, but I’m sure that’s the last thing they’ll be in a minute. Portia finds Cinna and Katniss and I do a double take when I see her. She’s in the same outfit as I am, except she has shiny lace up boots on instead of the short boots I have. Her unitard, like mine, is made to fit her perfectly. I know that the people who live in the Seam have it harder than merchants do, but it’s only now, without the concealment of shirts or dresses, that I truly see how lean she is. I catch myself staring before she can spot me doing so. Portia and Cinna start placing us on the chariot.

“What do you think?” Katniss asks. “About the fire?” She looks nervous, but seems determined to conceal it.

“I’ll rip off your cape if you’ll rip off mine.” I say, and I wish we were joking

“Deal.” It’s easy to talk to Katniss like this, when we’re not thinking about the Games themselves.

“Where is Haymitch? Isn’t he supposed to protect us from this sort of thing?” I ask her, and Katniss shrugs.

“With all that alcohol in him, it’s probably not advisable to have him around an open flame.” Katniss replies, and it’s so unexpected that I burst out laughing. She soon follows and before we know it, we’re snorting and gasping at the comedy of it all. It’s the nerves and anxiety that’s making us erratic, I know. That, and the thought of being set on fire. Still, it’s nice to have a moment like this. It’s almost normal.

The opening music starts and chariots are departing as it plays. We see tributes leave in pairs toward the City Circle, where we’ll be welcomed by President Snow before being wheeled into the Training Centre. We’ll stay there until the Games start. After a few minutes, I hear Cinna behind me say: “Here we go then.” 

Before I know it, he’s brought the torch to my cape and I brace for heat and pain. The only thing I register is tickling and a nice glowing warmth. Cinna seems relieved that it works and tells Katniss to smile. He jumps off the chariot but turns around quickly, getting a last minute idea.

“Hold hands! They’ll will love that!” I hear him shout just loud enough over the music while gesturing between us. 

“What’s he saying?” Katniss asks me, and she’s illuminated. Her eyes light up at the flames around her and form a dazzling halo. She’s more beautiful than I’ve ever seen her. 

“I think he said for us to hold hands.” I say. Katniss doesn’t miss a beat and takes my left hand in her right. We look to Cinna and he gives us a thumbs-up. I don’t know if the hammering of my heart is from nerves for what’s ahead or Katniss’ hand in mine. 

We make an impression as soon as we enter the grounds. The gasps from the audience quickly turn into cheers as all of their attention is on us. They shout out our district, probably scrambling through the booklet to search up our names. I look around me, holding onto Katniss, and see myself on an enormous screen. We look stunning. The capes leave a trail of fire behind us while lighting up our features. No one could look away even if they wanted to. The people’s excitement only grows as we move on, shouting our names and throwing roses our way. Katniss delicately picks one up and sniffs at it. She looks radiant, like the sun at the centre of the universe. What an introduction this is! No one will look over us now, which can only mean that more people will want to sponsor us. 

“Katniss! Katniss!” They shout, and it forms a chorus of overlapping syllables until all I can hear is just sounds. The crowd is mesmerised by her. We reach the City Circle and Katniss tries to let go of my hand.

“No, don’t let go of me. I might fall out of this thing.” It’s not a lie; the chariot does feel unstable as it comes to a halt. But it’s just as much for my personal benefit that I don’t want to let go of her. Katniss obliges and keeps holding on. I wonder why Cinna and Portia decided to let us hold hands; a quick scan around us shows that we’re the only tributes to do so. But it clearly made us very popular.

President Snow arrives and addresses us from a high up balcony that overlooks the city. He gives a speech welcoming us to the Games, talking about how we’ve been chosen to represent our districts in this ‘pageant of courage’. I keep my face neutral as he drones on, because cameras are on us and I don’t want them to see my true feelings. Here’s the man who’s organising this event, sending children to their deaths. I look over at Katniss once more and see her staring at us on a big screen. Our faces are plastered on all of them. 

The chariots ride into the Training Centre and as we stop, our prep teams are beside themselves with support and cheer. Cinna and Portia relieve us of our capes, which Portia extinguishes with some kind of spray out of a canister. Katniss lets go of my hand and we both massage them as we try to work some blood back into our stiff fingers. I don’t for a second regret holding onto her until the end.

“Thanks for keeping hold of me.” I say. “I was getting a little shaky there.” I confess, and it feels good to admit this to her. I see her eyes soften slightly as she assures me it didn’t show. 

“I’m sure they didn’t notice anything but you.” I say. I don’t pretend that people see me the way they see Katniss. She was the shining star of the night.

“You should wear flames more often.” I feel bold suddenly. “They suit you.” I almost look down after saying it, knowing it’s too much. Instead I smile, because I really do mean it. They’re already calling her the girl on fire, I hear the prep team saying it over and over. Tonight has introduced her to the Capitol properly, and no one will forget her now. 

She doesn’t smile back, but kisses me on the cheek instead. The moment is so unexpected and the flutter in my stomach so sudden that I don’t notice the pain of her lips touching the bruise on my jaw.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one of my favourite chapters so far, and I have lots more to show you!  
> Please leave me a comment or kudo if you like <3


	6. Avoxes

The Training Centre is an enormous building at the heart of the Capitol. Each district has its own floor where Capitol people stand at attention at all hours of the day. We don’t leave this place until we are taken to the arena. It’s basically a luxurious prison. Being on the top floor has its perks, though. The view from the large windows is so vast that I imagine seeing past the Capitol and into another district. It makes me feel less trapped. Just a little.

Growing up in District 12, we were taught in school about why Panem is the way it is. The rebellion, the punishment, all of it. Our teachers would sometimes warn us not to talk about certain things, like anti-Capitol sentiments. The Peacekeepers at home aren’t generally spiteful people, but we can’t forget who’s paying them. Even in District 12, they would say, the Capitol has ears. I believe it now that I’m here. This place feels almost mechanic in the way it keeps tabs on people. Everyone seems to be under constant vigilance, you can tell by how people act around each other. With the small portion of life here I’ve seen, I don’t doubt that the Capitol’s reach extends to even a remote place like my home. It creeps into the Training Centre, where I feel watched even in the smallest moment. I suppose it makes sense to keep a close eye on tributes to make sure they don’t just run off, but where would we go? There’s nowhere left except… more of the Capitol. 

We’re also accompanied by Haymitch and Effie. Haymitch has disappeared on us, though. I hope he’s not passed out drunk somewhere he shouldn’t be. He did promise to help us, so now we have to count on his good will for him to keep that promise. Effie, on the other hand, is still responsible for getting us where we need to be, but mostly I think she’s enjoying our newfound popularity in the Capitol. She’s gushing over what people are saying, telling them we’re singular in our greatness. Katniss and I exchange glances as she explains how when you press coal hard enough, you get a pearl. That’s not how it works, but neither of us finds it in ourselves to correct her.

“Unfortunately, I can’t seal the sponsor deals for you.” She says sadly. 

“But don’t worry, I’ll get Haymitch to the table at gunpoint if necessary.” Effie Trinket is many things, but most of all she’s determined.

I walk around the apartment, trying to gather my bearings as I memorise the layout of the place. It’s dizzying, the scope of it. As I start walking around, I grow more restless after each corner I turn. I’m not bad at orientation generally, but the combination of the size of the apartment and the feeling of being trapped here surges through me. At last, I throw open a door. It’s a staircase, no light illuminating the steps. My breathing becomes heavier and I close the door again. 

“Have you been up there already?” I startle as Cinna appears behind me, smiling gently. I shake my head no, trying not to look like I’m caught doing something I’m not supposed to. I hope I’m not too red in the face. My heart is hammering.

“I was just looking around. I didn’t know the stairs would be here.” I say truthfully. Cinna nods. I don’t know if he’s picking up on what’s happening.

“It’s the rooftop. There’s a garden and everything. Come on, we can get some fresh air.” He walks past me as he leads the way upstairs. I feel caught, but not embarrassed. I’d rather have it be Cinna than Effie. I know he’s Katniss’ stylist, but he’s been kind to me every time I’ve seen him. On the roof, we enter a dome shaped room with a door. Cinna opens it and we step through. I catch my breath at the winds that whip around the place, feeling them lift my hair. My chest feels lighter already, seeing this open space all around.

“It’s a bit windy here, but it’s a good place to collect your thoughts.” Cinna says. I get what he means; the wind drowns out his words even now that we’re a foot apart. It’s probably the most private space we have. He doesn’t talk about how I’m feeling. I appreciate it, in a weird way. 

“How come they let tributes come up here?” I think out loud. “I mean, if you wanted to, you could just… jump off.” I ask him, careful to avoid his eyes. I wouldn’t consider jumping, but I’m sure not everyone feels the same way. Fear can take a hold on the best of us.

“You can’t jump off. Here, let me show you.” He holds out his arm and a sharp zap makes him jerk it back. It’s some kind of force field, like the fence that keeps us inside District 12, except you can’t see it.

“That explains it.” He’s rubbing his arm. I can’t remember a tribute ever not making it to the Games, but these safety measures must have been put in place for a reason. A shiver runs through me at the thought of falling that distance.

“Thank you for showing me this.” I tell him, and he leaves me alone, patting me on the shoulder before he goes. I look over the edge of the roof and down to the streets below, evening out my breathing. I feel calmer already. I have to come up here again sometime, when I still can. After some time, I notice that I’m feeling better.

My bedroom is spacious and sleek, and bigger than the entire bakery. Big windows that have these special effects where you can project scenes onto them are also present, and I push random buttons. There are so many buttons. I walk over to the large bed in the middle of the room; it’s placed against the wall, lights illuminating it from below. Like it’s floating in solitude. A small package is on the bed, and I catch my breath at the sight. They stripped me at the Remake Centre and I’d forgotten about the cookies. They’re here, all five of them. Someone must have found them and made sure to return them to me. I feel touched by the gesture, despite the circumstances. Sitting down gingerly on the pristine sheets, I take out one cookie and bite into it. The sugar bombards my taste buds as I chew. I never knew what they truly tasted like. I sigh, holding the bag as I finish the first one. I’ll have another after dinner. Maybe they’ll allow me to take it with me; tributes are allowed tokens in the arena. Relics of home that can bring comfort. Let this be some comfort.

I hop in the shower before they call me for dinner. The sheer number of buttons in it is staggering. I press them carefully, letting jets of cool and piping hot water blast me until I find a setting that’s agreeable. I also manage to figure out the soap, but not before a powerful spray of rose scented fragrance assaults me and I cough, my eyes watering at its sickening aroma. I quickly memorise it as ‘Do Not Press Again’ for future reference.

Portia comes to find me sometime later to fetch me for dinner. I tug at the shirt I’ve put on and hope I don’t bombard people with my perfume. I couldn’t figure out how to scrub it off. 

“How are you finding the apartment?” She asks, smiling at me with kind eyes. She’s just trying to make small talk, I know. 

“Big, mostly.” I say, which gets a laugh out of her. It’s easy to pretend that we’re all just spending time together because we want to. 

“Yes, well, they do have a sense for showing off, right?” She says, and I’m surprised at her small but notable remark. I wonder how she truly feels about it all. 

“They sure do. Thanks again, by the way, for what you did for Katniss and I at the ceremony.” I tell her, and she bows her head in appreciation.

“It’s mostly Cinna, to be fair. And, oh- there he is!” We’ve reached the dining room, where the table is decked for us. A quick count shows that six places are set. So Haymitch is joining us, then. Cinna is standing on a balcony that’s right off of the dining room. The doors are open and cool evening air is coming in, the lightweight curtains billowing softly. Portia takes me to Cinna and I notice the extra pep in her step. 

“Look who I’ve found!” She says, and I want to laugh. Where else would I be? I know she didn’t mean it badly, but the ignorance of these people shows up every now and then. For some more often than others. But I don’t dislike Cinna and Portia, they’ve been our biggest help so far.

“Good evening!” Cinna says, and he holds out his hand for me to shake. It’s strangely formal, but I shake it anyway. It’s like our conversation from earlier doesn’t exist. Just like Portia, he gives me a reassuring squeeze. 

“Peeta was just thanking me for what we did for him and Katniss.” Portia says proudly. 

“But I told him it was mostly you.” Cinna accepts the compliment, but not wholeheartedly.

“Well, we’re here for you. Both of you. It’s our job to give you a chance out there.” He says gravely, and the weight of his words sinks in with all of us. 

“You’ve made Katniss into a superstar.” I say, and I’m not envious or mean about it. It’s better this way, with Katniss getting the spotlight. 

“You’ve made each other into superstars. Everyone noticed that you were holding on to each other. They’re intrigued by you.” 

Just then, Katniss walks into the dining room, followed by Effie. We’re served wine with our dinner, and I watch Katniss take a tentative sip as I pick up my own glass. The smell isn’t too bad, but I’ve seen what alcohol can do to people. I like my head to be clear. I set my sights on the juice instead. 

Haymitch comes in looking more alert and more sober than I’ve ever seen him. He must have had a prep team of his own to clean him up like this, because his hair is shiny and combed. He sits down at our table and dinner is served. As I’ve come to expect, there are courses upon courses of dishes that follow each other at confusing speed. We’ve barely cleared our plates before something else is delivered. Conversation at the table is light and relaxed, and it’s the first time I’ve seen Haymitch and Effie interact pleasantly with one another. Cinna and Portia seem to have a calming effect on them, combined with Haymitch’s soberness. They’re both excited about what the stylists have managed to do. I steal glances at Katniss next to me. They’re always putting us next to each other; in private and in public. She’s sipping from her wine again, seeming to enjoy it. I guess the good thing about this happening to us is that we get to try things we never would have been able to otherwise.

For dessert, they bring in a huge cake that they set on fire. Fitting, of course. I can’t help but look on in awe at the dancing flames. Katniss is asking something about how they do that when she stops mid sentence and says: “Wait! I know you!” While looking at the girl that served the cake. Stunned silence descends over the table. 

“Don’t be ridiculous, Katniss. How could you possibly know an Avox?” Effie scolds. “The very thought.” Effie seems completely flustered by the situation, as if knowing an Avox is the end of the world. My mother once explained to me and my brothers what happens to people who turn against the Capitol. “They don’t kill them.” She said grimly. “It’s worse than that. They kill their voices.” I don’t know how she came to know about this, if she picked it up from one of the Peacekeepers that come by the bakery or something. But it’s stuck with me ever since.

Katniss is at a loss for words, and the wide eyed Avox girl seems scared out of her wits. I try to find a way to calm everyone down. She needs an excuse. Spitting out the first name I can think of, I say:

“Delly Cartwright! That’s who it is. I kept thinking she looked familiar as well. Then I realised she’s a dead ringer for Delly.” Now, Katniss and I both know that this girl and Delly Cartwright look nothing alike, but the relief in her face says it all. I detect her gratitude in the way she confirms what I said. There’s a unanimous exhale around the table as everyone relaxes, generating sounds of understanding. The Avox is nowhere to be seen. We eat our cake as chatter resumes, like this blip didn’t happen. 

I do wonder why Katniss recognised her, though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, leave me a comment or kudo if you're liking the story so far! This was more of a filler chapter, but I'm uploading again very soon!


	7. Delly Cartwright

After dinner, we all gather in the sitting room to watch the recap of the opening ceremony. It’s weird seeing myself on screen like this, like I’m some other person who’s the polar opposite of who I am. I guess that’s partially true; the smiling, waving boy engulfed by synthetic flames is very far away from the baker from District 12.

The other tributes make their own impressions on the crowd, but it’s clear that we got the most screen time. I stare at the way our hands are locked together. I vividly remember the feeling of her warm touch, my own hands sweaty with nerves. I push down the butterflies in my stomach; this isn’t the time nor the place. But being so close to her all the time is proving to only make my feelings grow bigger.

Haymitch clearly has something to say about our hand holding, too. 

“Just the perfect touch of rebellion.” Katniss and I are equally confused, I can see it by the way she looks at Haymitch. Her expression matches my own. Rebellion? I suppose it’s different for us to hold hands, since none of the other tributes have done so. In fact, I’ve never seen that happen at the opening ceremony since I started watching them. So maybe it is rebellious of us to be presented as partners, not as adversaries. In any case, I’m still glad we did it. 

“Tomorrow is the first training session.” Haymitch says matter-of-factly. “Meet me for breakfast and I’ll tell you exactly how I want you to play it.” I mull it over in my head as Haymitch sends Katniss and I away for the night. We have to play it right if we want to make our impression last.

Katniss and I walk toward the bedrooms in silence. When we get to her door, I can’t help but let curiosity get the best of me.

“So, Delly Cartwright. Imagine finding her lookalike here.” I can see Katniss weighing her options; whatever happened with her and the girl must be something difficult. I do want to talk to her about it, because why would a girl she knows be here as an Avox?

“”Have you been on the roof yet?” I offer, thanking Cinna for showing it earlier tonight. Katniss shakes her head.

“Cinna showed me. You can practically see the whole city. The wind’s a bit loud, though.” She catches on to what I mean and asks if we can just go up.

“Sure, c’mon.” And like Cinna, I lead her up the stairs, through the dome-shaped room and onto the roof. Katniss catches her breath at the sight and feel of being up here, the sweeping wind and glittering lights of the city below. I lead her to the railing, anxious to show her this small piece of the Capitol I know. 

I tell Katniss about Cinna and how he showed me that we can’t jump off, demonstrating by getting zapped in the hand by the force field.

“Always worried about our safety.” She says grimly. 

“Maybe.” I reply. Worried about the Games, more like. “Come see the garden.” I lead her to the other side of the roof, where a small garden has been created. Wind chimes hang from the branches of potted trees, and I’m positive that no one can overhear us if we sit and talk here. This is the safest space for Katniss and I to talk freely. When we sit down on a bench, I turn to her and wait.

Katniss tells me a story about her and Gale Hawthorne hunting in the woods and how they encountered the girl and a boy. Her tone is downcast as she talks about how a hovercraft appeared right before their eyes to capture the pair with a net. 

“Did they see you?” I ask her. The fear and guilt in her voice betrays that she must have, but she doesn’t want to tell me. It doesn’t matter right now. I want to tell her it’s okay, they were too young to know what to do, what would have happened if they’d intervened? But instead I say: “You’re shivering.” She is; all of the warmth seems to have left her body. I instinctively give her my jacket, not sure if she’ll even take it. But she does, and I’m happy. She’s letting me be her friend and that’s more than I can hope for right now. 

“They were from here?” I ask while buttoning the jacket so it hugs her closer. I hope it comforts her a little. Katniss nods.

“Where do you suppose they were going?” I ask her. 

“I don’t know that. Or why they would leave here.” Well, I could think of a few reasons. Everything here is surreal in the way it’s set up; fake people, fake safety, fake lives. They might not have had it as bad as we do in the districts, but I can easily imagine wanting to go.

“I’d leave here.” I blurt out. My eyes grow wide and I look around. I didn’t mean to say it, or this loud. I have to backtrack.

“I’d go home now if they let me. But you have to admit the food’s prime.” I release a sigh as I calm myself down. If any microphone would have been listening in, what I just said wouldn’t be cause for concern. I suggest going back inside.

I casually ask if Gale is the one who carried Prim away during the reaping. I know Katniss and Gale spend a lot of time together; he’s a popular subject with the girls in my class.

“I thought he was your cousin or something. You favour each other.” 

“No, we’re not related.” She replies. I know it doesn’t matter, certainly not now, but part of me is jealous of Gale and how much time he has been able to spend with Katniss.

“Did he come to say goodbye to you?” I ask. 

“Yes.” She says. “So did your father. He brought me cookies.” I raise my eyebrows as surprise washes over me. He gave her the same cookies he gave me? The idea of him visiting Katniss in the Justice Building, handing her the cookies, talking to her. 

“Well, he likes you and your sister. I think he wishes he had a daughter instead of a houseful of boys.” I joke easily, willing to ease some of the tension. And it’s partiallly true; three rowdy boys definitely raised some difficult situations growing up. 

“He knew your mother when they were kids.” I say, thinking about the time my father talked about her to me. How awed he was by her. How fitting that the same thing would happen to me with her daughter.

“Oh, yes. She grew up in town.” I remember the story, she was the apothecary's daughter who married a coal miner because she loved him. 

We don’t talk much more until we reach Katniss’ door again, and there are a million things I want to talk to her about now that we’ve had this conversation. 

“See you in the morning then.” She says as she hands me back my jacket. I take it carefully.

“See you.” I turn around to leave Katniss alone, hugging the jacket to my chest. 

When I get to my room, I put the jacket on a chair and find the cookies again. Taking one, I eat it as I tab through the different screens that show up on the window. Katniss and I talked freely for the first time ever, and the news of my father shocked me more than the story of the couple from the Capitol. Now more than ever I realise that people are rooting for Katniss; even my own father does. I barely taste what I’m eating and drink from the tap to wash it down. 

That night when I go to bed, I mull over everything that’s happened since the reaping. I never for a moment doubt that Katniss is the winner out of the both of us; it’d be silly of me to think otherwise. And I still want to give the girl I’ve been in love with for all these years the best fighting chance to survive. My family doesn’t expect me to come back and I don’t plan to. So from tomorrow morning when our training starts, I’ll tell Haymitch what I want.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, the rooftop talk! Hope you enjoyed reading c: as always, let me know your thoughts (if you want to)!


	8. Training

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas!!

The next morning I find myself well rested, which is surprising. No one has come to wake me up this time. I go into the bathroom and press buttons until the shower turns on, but the awful rose soap is back and I turn it off, having had enough for today. I find an outfit has been left for me to wear. Black pants, a burgundy tunic and leather shoes. They’re simple clothes and comfortable to wear. 

When I enter the dining room with Haymitch, I see Katniss has on the same clothes as I do. Is this another tactic thought out by the prep team? To match us again? Katniss’ face betrays nothing as I grab a plate and fill it with food at a buffet table. My stomach has been acting up with all of the rich stuff I’ve been served in the past days, but I push through it and stack my plate with eggs, meats, and rolls. Enough food for two meals at least. But training starts today so I need sustenance. 

I join Katniss as she’s dipping a roll into a cup of hot chocolate. She nods her head.

“Morning.” I say. After our talk last night, it seems weird to not have anything to say right now. Haymitch is filling a platter with stew and takes care of it quickly, refilling soon after. He really seems to have found his appetite. After a few platters of stew, he takes out a flask and gulps a good amount of its contents down. Can’t beat a habit that fast.

“So, let’s get down to business. Training. First off, if you like, I’ll coach you separately. Decide now.” Haymitch doesn’t waste any time now that he’s fully taken on his mentor role.

“Why would you coach us separately?” Katniss asks immediately.

“Say if you had a secret skill you might not want the other to know about.” Haymitch says conspiratorially, looking between Katniss and I. We exchange glances and I find the urge to shrug my shoulders.

“I don’t have any secret skills.” I admit, and it’s true. I don’t possess any skills that would actually help me out in the Games. “And I already know what yours is, I’ve eaten enough of your squirrels.” I say to Katniss. She seems to consider this for a moment.

“You can coach us together.” She says, and I nod in agreement. No harm in discussing tactics together, so I know what we have to look out for and maybe anticipate what Katniss might do if we get separated. It makes sense.

“All right, so give me some idea of what you can do.” Haymitch prompts. 

“I can’t do anything. Unless you count baking bread.” I quip. No use pretending I’m someone I’m not. Not to Haymitch.

“Sorry, I don’t.” He says a bit sadly. “Katniss. I already know you’re handy with a knife.” 

“Not really, but I can hunt.” She replies, and really, isn’t that the most important thing? “With a bow and arrow.”

“And you’re good?” Haymitch asks. I guess he’s too good to eat the animals Katniss hunts and sells, because otherwise he wouldn’t need convincing.

“She’s excellent.” I say, “My father buys her squirrels. He always comments on how the arrows never pierce the body. She hits every one in the eye. It’s the same with the rabbits she sells the butcher. She can even bring down deer.” I don’t hold back in listing what she can do; Haymitch needs to know all of this so he can guide her. I don’t have to make grand claims about her skills, because she simply is that good, and I don’t think she’d admit it.

“What are you doing?” Katniss asks, eyeing me up and down.

“What are you doing? If he’s going to help you, he has to know what you’re capable of. Don’t underrate yourself.” She bristles at my words.

“What about you?” She counters. “I’ve seen you in the market. You can lift hundred-pound bags of flour.” Her tone is harsh. “Tell him that. That’s not nothing.” 

“Yes,” I reply, getting heated, “I’m sure the arena will be full of bags of flour for me to chuck at people. It’s not like being able to use a weapon. You know it isn’t.” This doesn’t seem to deter her.

“He can wrestle. He came in second in our school competition last year, only after his brother.” Why is she doing this? None of these things matter.

I snap, willing her to see that none of this will work. She tries convincing me that I’ll have the upper hand in close combat, whereas her ranged weapon is a disadvantage. 

“If I get jumped, I’m dead!” She exclaims, her voice rising. 

“But you won’t!” I tell her how she’ll be up in a tree, tucked away safely.

“You know what my mother said when she came to say goodbye? She says maybe District 12 will finally have a winner. Then I realised she meant you, not me.” I admit, my cheeks heating at the pain of the moment.

“Oh, she meant you.” Katniss tries to dismiss me.

“She said, ‘she’s a fighter, that one’. She is.” I almost shout, emotions welling up at the thought of my own mother’s acceptance of my death when I was still alive in front of her. Katniss doesn’t reply for some time, processing what I just said. I hope she sees that I know who between us has the better odds.

“But only because someone helped me.” She says, her voice suddenly fragile. She’s holding a roll in her hands and I look down at it, the edges of a faint memory finding their way up. Of a rainy day and her behind our yard, shivering and starving and hopeless. Of trying to help in the only way I knew how. I shake the memory away. Not now.

“People will help you in the arena. They’ll be tripping over each other to sponsor you.” I don’t feel envy as I say it, just a sense that I know I’m right. 

“No more than you.” She counters, and I roll my eyes at Haymitch.

“She has no idea,” I say, “The effect she can have.” It’s not lost on me that this is the most honest I’ve ever been about how I feel about her, but it’s concealed by the fact that we’re talking about sponsors. It’s true, though. She could wrap them around her finger if she wanted to.

After about a minute, Haymitch speaks up, looking at Katniss first. He tells her to focus on her bow and arrow and make sure to show that to the Gamemakers during the private session. He’s also asking about snares, to which she mutters that she knows a few basic ones.

“Peeta, she’s right,” he says as he turns to me, “Never underestimate strength in the arena. Very often, physical power tilts the advantage. Don’t reveal how much weight you can lift in front of the other tributes. The plan’s the same for both of you.” He concludes. “You go to group training, spend time trying to learn something new. Throw a spear. Learn to tie a decent knot. Save showing what you’re best at until your private sessions. Are we clear?” He asks. Katniss and I nod.

“One last thing. In public, I want you by each other’s side every minute.” Katniss and I start to object, but Haymitch says: “Every minute! It’s not open for discussion! You agreed to do as I said! You will be together, you will appear amiable to each other. Now get out. Meet Effie at the elevator at ten for training.” 

Katniss stalks back to her room and slams the door for good measure. I lock myself up in my own room and pace around. So, Katniss and I are to stay together at all times. I don’t mind that per se, it gives us time to talk. But a part of me struggles to see the sense in this. Aren’t we better off practising our individual skills? I’ll only hold her back if she needs to practise and I don’t think she’ll find something like camouflage a timeworthy ordeal. Still, we promised Haymitch we’d listen. So no going back.

At five to ten, I make my way to the elevator, where Effie is already waiting for us. She greets me excitedly.

“Good morning to you! Nervous about training?” What does she expect? The thought of seeing the other tributes face to face is far from comforting, let alone my absolute lack of skills to train in the first place.

“Yeah, I am. Had a good breakfast though.” I say, patting my stomach. Better to deflect.

“Ah, yes! We do know how to have breakfast here, don’t we? Have you tried the poached eggs yet?” She asks pleasantly, and we share some small talk about a variety of breakfast foods until Katniss joins us.

We take the elevator down to the lowest floor of the Training Centre at a jarring speed. It almost feels like falling. The doors open to reveal a gigantic room filled with an array of weapons, stations to train survival skills, obstacle courses and practise dolls. Someone pins a number 12 to my back as I observe all of the other tributes standing around in a circle. Once we join, Atala, the head trainer, starts explaining how everything works. I barely register a word as I come face to face with the people who will try to kill me in a few days’ time. Cato, the boy from 2, stands tall and confident as he looks over at us. He looks almost hungry in his excitement. He’s overshadowed in stature only by the boy from 11, but he isn’t nearly as muscular and well fed as Cato is. All of the Career tributes look healthy and glowing, while the kids from other districts look even smaller and weaker in comparison. My heart breaks again for them, for us. Atala has finished her explanation and I nudge Katniss, who’s looking into the distance.

“Where would you like to start?” I ask.

“Suppose we tie some knots.” She suggests, and sure, why not.

“Right you are.” I reply, and we walk over to the station where a trainer seems surprised to find us. We learn some simple snares and traps, and Katniss learns some more advanced knots when the trainer notices her skill. After we finish with that, I suggest camouflage. It’s the most logical thing for me to do. The trainer is impressed with my work as I use a mixture of mud, leaves, berry juice, and any other things to turn my arm into a log that sits on the table. Katniss’ eyes grow wide as she sees what I’ve done.

“I do the cakes.” I admit to her, feeling a sense of pride for the first time.

“The cakes? What cakes?” She asks.

“At home. The iced ones, for the bakery.” Katniss comes closer to see the details and actually admires it. My chest glows on the inside at her gaze on me, with a kind of reverence I never thought I’d see. It’s making me feel lighter, and bolder.

“It’s lovely. If only you could frost someone to death.” She says.

“Don’t be so superior,” I joke, “You can never tell what you’ll find in the arena. Say it’s actually a gigantic cake-”

“Say we move on.” She cuts me off, and I deflate a little. I went too far, cracking jokes about what we’ll find in the arena. But it felt nice to imagine that what I can do could make a difference.

We spend the next three days going from station to station, avoiding the ones Haymitch explicitly told us to ignore. We learn valuable skills, like how to start a fire and how to throw a knife. I’m a good shot if I’m given the time. We eat lunch down at the gymnasium, all 24 of us packed into a room with a buffet on one side. Katniss and I are the only tributes who eat together, apart from the rowdy Careers who seem to have formed a pack. They tend to do that; band together and terrorise the others in the arena, until the numbers drop and they turn on each other. They’re usually quite meticulous in how they operate, hunting methodically. 

Katniss and I often sit in silence when we eat lunch, despite the fact that I’d like to ask her a thousand questions. But talking about life at home is painful, and it’s not exactly the kind of situation where talking about the weather is bearable, either. So one day, I turn over the bread basket on our table and start teaching her about the different kinds of bread that are baked throughout Panem. I know about this because of an old book we have at home, a sort of encyclopedia of bread. It was one of the only books we have, and it largely taught me how to read. 

“See these sesame seeds? Typical for District 3. And these ones that have the bumps on them originated in 1.” Katniss seems kind of impressed by my knowledge of bread, though I can’t be sure how sincere she is being.

“You certainly know a lot.” She says.

“Only about bread,” I say. I look over her shoulder and see Cato looking right at us.

“Okay, now laugh as if I’ve said something funny.” I say quickly, and we both give the most convincing fake laugh we can muster. A few of the others turn to us at the sound, but most importantly, Cato is looking at me and not at Katniss anymore. 

“All right, I’ll keep smiling pleasantly and you talk.” I say, attempting to show that we’re very much a team that is comfortable with one another. It’s difficult, because I can tell Katniss is getting tired from pretending all the time, and it’s wearing me out, too. But this is the way we have to play it. She tells me about the time where she was chased by a bear and it’s actually a funny story, so it’s not hard for me to ask questions and look interested. She’s a good storyteller, and I can see the light in her eyes at the memories of the woods at home. She comes alive when she imagines them, and it makes it all more bearable.

On the second day of group training, I keep looking behind me during spear throwing because I feel like I’m being watched. When I find who it is, I whisper to Katniss: “I think we have a shadow.” It’s the girl from District 11, the youngest one out of all of us. I throw a spear before saying: “I think her name’s Rue.” I remembered it from the reaping, her name befitting her. Katniss picks up another spear.

“What can we do about it?” She snaps, throwing the spear with newfound determination. It’s hard to gauge why she’s responding so viscerally.

“Nothing to do,” I level with her, “Just making conversation.” I thought she’d like to know about something like this, especially because Rue keeps tracking us throughout the day. She shows up at the stations we practise at, always a little distance away. But she excels in her own training. I wish I could approach her, become her friend. But the thought of meeting her again in the arena turns my blood cold.

Haymitch and Effie practically interrogate us about the other tributes. We’re telling them what they look like, what they practise, if we noticed any skills they’re good at. We’re also reporting on how we’re doing, if we’re sticking to the plan. They’re both focussed on us now, which means they’re not focusses on each other. It’s made dinner go from terrible to… a little less terrible. But at least we’re having civilised conversation. Haymitch is grilling us and giving us advice on every last detail, and it’s almost like he’s becoming too involved. He’s a different person from the mess I had to clean up on the train. 

When we finally escape to our rooms that night, I mutter that someone should go and give him a drink already. I don’t mean it, but Katniss’ poorly concealed snort makes it worth it. I smile at her, proud of myself for making her laugh. Then she seems to catch herself.

“Don’t. Don’t ‘let’s pretend’ when no one’s around.” She says. My smile fades and I look away.

“All right, Katniss.” I concede, because what else do I do? The small moments of unforced conversations we’ve had seem to lose their colour as I understand that she doesn’t want any of it. We don’t talk in private anymore after this, and I let it be. She has to do what she has to do, and I’ll follow.


	9. Scores

On the third and final day of training, they start calling us out of the lunch room one by one. They call us by district; first the boy, then the girl. By the time they call Rue, Katniss and I are alone again. The silence between us is maddening. My name is called over a speaker and I stand up, wiping my hands on my pants.

“Remember what Haymitch said about being sure to throw the weights.” Katniss pipes up; the last thing I expected was her advice, but I take it gladly. At least we’re talking again. I look at her and say: “Thank you. You… shoot straight.” She nods and I don’t know what else I can say in the moment; I’m already distracted by her sudden approach and my session with the Gamemakers. 

I nod at her one last time before walking into the gymnasium, where a group of Gamemakers sit on a dais around a large table. Multiple empty plates and glasses clutter the space and I hear from their voices that they’re in different stages of drunkenness. A tune carries between them, slurred words and off-key melodies. They barely registered when I came in. Taking a deep breath, I do what Haymitch told me to do: I walk over to the weights and start by picking up a large ball. It weighs around the same as a sack of flour, so this is familiar territory for me. The shape of it is awkward in my hands and I have to readjust it before moving. I take it with me to the centre of the gymnasium and position myself in front of the Gamemakers. Lifting it up, I throw it as far as I can; it lands a couple feet away from me with a dull thud. Not my most impressive throw, but not my worst. I continue to pick up other heavy objects and throw them away as hard as I can. No one is looking at me, and I feel like a fool for this display. I wish I could just leave and let them drink. They seem much more interested in that anyway. Then, after about fifteen minutes of this, one of them says: “Thank you. We’ve seen enough.” And ushers me away with a gesture of his hand. 

I feel deflated and angry as I walk to the elevator, leaning my head against the glass wall as I ride up. My arms are heavy at my sides. What was that? I don’t think any of them actually saw me at all. Maybe I would have had better luck camouflaging myself, but then they’d probably think I just disappeared. 

When I reach the top floor, I’m almost relieved to see that neither Haymitch nor Effie are here. They’ll probably get here once Katniss is done, too. This leaves me with unexpected time I get to spend for myself. Precious time where I don’t have to pretend to hold it together as much. 

In my room, I take off the training clothes and change them for a comfortable pair of pants and a white shirt. I realise that the clothes resemble my reaping clothes all too well, but the familiarity of them is perversely comforting. Walking around aimlessly, I decide to go up to the roof again. I take the cookies with me, planning to finish them all at once. They’re already going stale and I’ve been taught to never waste food. I can hear my mother’s voice drilling it into me at different points in my life. 

What would she be doing right now? I think of this as I stand at the railing again, chewing on sugar paste. The bakery is open, so it should be business as usual. But who would take over my job? My father surely isn’t dexterous enough to do the delicate work. His hands are big and bulky, whereas mine have more slender, deft fingers. He used to do the cakes when I was too young to work, but I know it was a relief for them when they figured out that I had a talent for it. Maybe my other brother is doing my tasks. Maybe they’ve discontinued the things I used to make, erasing them as they’re erasing me. A gap in the displays. 

I look down at the streets below. All over the city are advertisements for the imminent Games, pictures of the different tributes flashing on screens. I see myself and Katniss flash multiple times in the time I’m up here, and I wonder if tribute popularity influences how much screen time we get. Our last chance at doing something remarkable is during the interviews we have right before the Games start. What is there left for me to do, to make sure we have the best odds? We need to be unforgettable when we enter the arena. As I finish off the last of the cookies, a plan starts forming in my mind. 

Dinner time comes sooner than expected, and I realise I’ve been on the roof for a long time. I stalk down, clutching the cloth bag in my hand as Effie’s running around, rapping on my door to call me. I wait until she’s gone before slipping into my room and coming out again. When I get to the dining room, I see that our entire team has joined us. In all my pondering, I’ve never taken the time to consider my training score. Not that there’s a lot to consider; I was forgettable, invisible. I’ll probably get a random score because the Gamemakers can’t even remember what I showed them. 

Katniss comes into the room and her face is red and splotchy, her eyes swollen from what can only be crying. I didn’t hear her come up, but whatever happened at her session made her upset. We all sit down at the table and the adults are talking about the weather of all things, while I catch Katniss’ gaze and raise my eyebrows. I wish we could speak on the roof again. She just shakes her head and looks down at her plate. 

“Okay, enough small talk, just how bad were you today?” Haymitch asks, and there’s his familiar tone of condescension mixed with scepticism. I chime in before Katniss can.

“I don’t know that it mattered. By the time I showed up, no one even bothered to look at me.” I admit. “They were singing some kind of drinking song, I think. I threw around some heavy objects until they told me I could go.” I feel embarrassed, looking at these people and telling them what happened. 

But then Katniss tells us what she did.

Effie just about falls off of her chair and gasps dramatically. I can’t do anything but stare at her. She shot an arrow at the Gamemakers? They question her about every little detail, and she tells them what happened, how she got frustrated at the Gamemakers’ indifference, shot at a roast pig on their table and then dismissed herself. She’s clearly concerned about her family more than anything, which is probably why she was crying. Haymitch assures her that they can’t reveal what happened because the sessions are secret. 

“More likely they’ll make your life hell in the arena.” He says.

“Well, they’ve already promised to do that to us anyway.” I say, the words escaping me. 

“Very true.” Haymitch says. We talk more about the repercussions of what Katniss did, about scores and the terrified faces of the Gamemakers. All in all, it seems as though Katniss’ outburst wasn’t too bad, and all the better that is. It makes my own performance even bleaker in comparison. Portia explains that sometimes, tributes try to get low scores on purpose to pretend they’re weak when they’re not.

“I hope that’s how people interpret the four I’ll probably get.” I say. “Really, is there anything less impressive than watching a person pick up a heavy ball and throw it a couple of yards. One almost landed on my foot.” I add, and the stylists try to comfort me about it all. But no harm done, because Katniss is grinning at me and it makes the scores fade away from my mind for a second. 

After dinner, we sit down together in front of the television. They start listing the scores, showing surprises here and there. Cato, of course, racks up a ten. Rue gets a score of seven, which is truly great. I wonder what she showed the Gamemakers. Then it’s our turn. My picture appears on screen as the presenter reads out my name and score.

Eight! Well, that’s not too bad, really. Maybe some of them were actually looking at me then. We hold our breaths as Katniss’ score comes on screen. Eleven! Everyone flies into her arms at the score; it’s the highest one any of the tributes received. She’ll definitely be on everyone’s minds now. Paired with my own score, we aren’t forgettable now. Hopefully the sponsors think the same. Katniss and I congratulate each other, hugging because everyone else did but quickly breaking it off. I clear my throat as she looks away. I didn’t mean to do that, but won’t regret it either way.

Katniss disappears into her room soon after as I stay behind with the team. When Cinna and Portia leave and Effie turns in for the night, I catch Haymitch before he goes. The plan in my mind is starting to take shape, and if I want to execute it, he needs to be in on it. I tell him about my idea.

“So you want to train alone now?” He says, eyeing me curiously. There’s an amused glint in his eyes.

“Yes, I have an idea for something I can do. But I’d rather not have Katniss know about it. At least for now.” I say, hoping he won’t ask too many questions.

“Well, sure. We’ll figure out the details one on one.” He agrees, and my heart surges at his acceptance.

“Okay, great. Goodnight.” I tell him, before walking into my own room and getting ready for the night. I don’t sleep for another couple of hours, my heart racing at the idea that’s flooding every second of my thoughts. I hope Katniss will forgive me for what I’m going to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting closer to the action! As usual, leave me some feedback if you want :')


	10. Interviews

The next morning, Effie is rapping on my door again and I wake up in a daze, the dream I had fracturing with every passing second. I was dreaming of being at home, and Katniss was there. I was going to give her some freshly baked bread but then I caught on fire because I’d taken it out of the oven with my bare hands. Sweat sits on my brow as I scramble to get ready for another ‘big, big, big day!’. I even out my breathing and splash some water in my face, getting dressed quickly to be in time for breakfast.

Haymitch and Effie are already sitting down when I come in and grab a plate at the buffet table. 

“So, I told Effie about your change of plans yesterday.” Haymitch says in a hushed tone. I sit down and look between the both of them.

“We’re on board, but we’ll need a little more detail. What exactly did you have in mind?” He asks, Effie’s eyes large as she takes in the excitement of this conspiratorial conversation. 

“Well, I thought about Katniss and I. As a team, presented to the Capitol. I-” 

Just then Katniss steps in, ignoring us as she’s loading her plate. Our conversation dies immediately, Effie taking a surreptitious spoonful of yoghurt. She’s kind of the worst at secrecy, so I hope this will work.

“So, what’s going on?” She asks. “You’re coaching us on interviews today, right?” She’s gulping down orange juice and takes a big bite of the stew she ladled onto her plate.

“That’s right.” Haymitch says.

“You don’t have to wait until I’m done. I can listen and eat at the same time.” She says, and I shift uncomfortably in my chair as I play around with the stew on my plate. My appetite is gone.

“Well, there’s been a change of plans. About our current approach.” Haymitch eyes me as he says it.

“What’s that?” She asks, and I think she’ll hate me.

“Peeta has asked to be coached separately.” The shock and betrayal on her face is impossible to conceal. I don’t look at her after this, because no matter what I do, she’ll feel like this is some plan of mine to sabotage her. If only she knew.

“Good.” She says, seemingly having recovered. She’s eating again. “So what’s the schedule?” I release my breath as Haymitch starts laying down the timing. Four hours with Effie, fours hours with Haymitch. I am to start with Haymitch; I suspect he’s eager to know just what it is I have in mind. I manage to spoon some stew and rice into my mouth before breakfast is over, but it sits heavily in my stomach. As Katniss and Effie walk away for their session together, Haymitch and I walk over to the sitting room.

“So,” he starts, “tell me about this plan of yours. You seem pretty convinced by it if you’re changing our tactics like this.” Haymitch says. He’s patiently waiting for me to speak as I gather my thoughts. I have to lay it all out for him; how I feel about Katniss, the situation with my family, all of it. So I take a deep breath and bare my soul.

“I just… if anyone deserves to win, it’s her, Haymitch.” I conclude. “I have no one to go back to who cares enough and she has her family.” I say, pleading. He considers me for a long while, resting his elbows on his knees, his hands planted together. I can see the cogs turning in his mind.

“What you’re telling me is that all this time, you’ve been in love with her?” He’s having a hard time believing it. I guess it makes sense; the Hunger Games are not a place where love stories are made.

“Yes. Even before any of this happened. And I want to help her,” I say, “when we’re in there. Any way I can.” He’s rubbing at his eyes.

“Alright. So what if… you use that?” He’s looking in the distance as if the idea is written on the back wall of the room.

“Tell the people how you feel about her. Admit it to the world; the Capitol loves drama. And you won’t even be lying.” The butterflies in my stomach turn violent at the thought of admitting my crush for the whole country, but this is what I wanted. This is the way I can help.

“But, Peeta. When you’re in the arena, the others won’t care that you’re in love with her. If anything, it’ll make you a target.” He says.

“Then I’ll use that. Find a way to turn that into an advantage. What if I can trick them into thinking I know where she is?” I say, the words forming sentences faster than I can think them.

“What if I can find someone and-”

“And what? Have them kill you in your sleep once they’re tired of you? That’s too big of a risk. Listen, I know what you want, but you can’t put your life on the line like this.” He warns me.

I want to laugh. “As opposed to what, put my life on the line for nothing? I’m dying in there, Haymitch. I’ve been trying to accept that. And the only way for me to be able to accept that is if I die protecting her. You can’t change my mind.” I say, fierceness rising in me. I will him to see that yes, I’m hopeless, but not about everything. The Games won’t take my dignity away from me, too.

“Fine.” He sighs. “Just… watch out who to trust in there. No one is your friend.” He stands up, walking around. I see his hands are shaking; he must be dying for a drink. He claps them suddenly and I startle.

“Now for the actual interview. I think we can work with you.” He says, and then we discuss how I should approach it. His tone changes as the subject does; he’s in his element.

“You have an approachable air around you. I want you to use that. Crack a joke, make them laugh.” I can do that, I think. It’s weird being complimented like this.

“Then, Caesar will probably ask you about life at home. It’s going to suck. But turn it around, talk about how generous the Capitol is, the good stuff about living in 12.” He goes on.

“And then…”

“I tell him about Katniss.” I finish. He nods approvingly. The script has been mapped out. 

“You’re going to do great up there. Your sincerity will be unmistakable.” I thank him. This is the single most helpful thing he’s done for me since the reaping. It feels good to know that he’s in on what I want. It makes it more real, in a way.

After our four hours are up, we walk back into the dining room. Haymitch and I are both in good spirits. The session was a success. After lunch, it’s time to practise with Effie.

“Right! So, let us get you into something you could wear for the interview.” Effie quips. I take the clothes and dress shoes that she brought with her and get changed. The entire point of this session is to make sure I know how to act properly, which should be easy enough. Back home, I sometimes help customers if my mother is out for something. Greeting sullen Peacekeepers and smiling politely at barking customers should be training enough.

“When you walk on stage,” she says, “I want you to flash your brightest smile.” She’s acting it out, pretending to walk up some steps and then beaming at me. The whiteness of her teeth is almost blinding. She has me repeat what she does and starts clapping her hands.

“Bravo! Really good!” She goes on to teach me about when to smile, how to smile, how long to smile. And most importantly: when to stop smiling. My cheeks start to ache after the second hour and near the end, I feel like I might need some ice. My bruise has turned yellow now and hurts a little when I smile too wide, but it’s manageable.

“You’re doing great, Peeta. It’s like you were born for the spotlight!” She exclaims excitedly. I bite my tongue and practise another radiant, albeit fake, smile. More like I was born for slaughter, but I digress. It’s no use bickering about it, not with Effie.

After our session, I have dinner with Haymitch and Effie. From Haymitch’s state it’s clear he’s had more than one drink and he’s not very willing to talk about his session with Katniss. She chose to have dinner in her room, which also tells me enough. I just hope they were able to prepare something good for the interview.

The next morning, our prep teams come in early to get started. I eat breakfast as my hair and makeup is done. They’ve actually managed to smooth it down, which is a miracle. Instead of waves, it lies smoothly against my forehead in a neat curl. They use makeup to deftly conceal the bruise and add a healthy glow to my skin. The tributes might have been intimidated by the injury, but the Capitol won’t like it if I seem hurt already. I don’t mind any of it; the only thing going on in my mind is the interview tonight. My confession. How will Katniss take it? As far as she knows, I’m just some random kid who tossed bread at her once on a rainy day. The fact that she remembers that at all is surprising, considering it was a one off thing. 

“Okay, take a look!” Portia says as the last hand to my look is completed. I stand in front of the mirror and see someone I don’t know. I’m wearing a sharp, black suit with flame accents on the cuffs. My hair is smoothed back and my skin looks radiant. Any sign of the bruise is gone. I’ve put on a few pounds since the reaping, and I fill out the suit more than I would have thought. Good, I think. I’ve got that going for me.

“Your work is amazing.” I tell Portia and the prep team. They all beam at me as we look at my reflection. I realise that I might actually miss them.

When we’re done, we meet up with the others at the elevator. Though I don’t register anyone except for Katniss. She’s on fire, but in the most elegant sense of the word. Her dress is filled with precious gems, the fabric and lights playing off of them and creating a glowing creature who shimmers as she moves. Her eyes flash and beckon, and I’m drawn in to her glow. She’s always beautiful, but now she is resplendent. I barely notice Effie’s compliments.

The other tributes are gathered in a line towards the stage. We will sit in an arc around the main speaker, Caesar Flickerman, and whatever tribute is being interviewed. Katniss precedes me today, since the girl comes before the boy tribute of every district. It’s confusing to me why they would do so. But there’s more I’m confused about when it comes to the Capitol.

Right as we are walking up to the stage, Haymitch appears behind us.

“Remember, you’re still a happy pair. So act like it.” He growls, and Katniss looks confused. I’m not sure why it would matter, since we don’t get to interact with each other once we sit down. But I keep it mind as we walk up the steps and into the blinding lights of the stage. 

It’s disorienting at first, but my eyes slowly adjust to the lights and heat of being up here. You’d think it was day from the brightness of this place. Caesar Flickerman bounces onto the stage, his hair, lips and eyelids a powder blue. His face looks ghoulish underneath a layer of pure white makeup, but his energy is unmatched. He opens the show with enthusiasm, drinking in the applause by the lucky Capitol citizens who have front row seats to watch the interviews take place. 

Off we go, with the girl from 1 taking the lead. She’s perfectly charming and mysterious. Her gold dress is shiny and provocative and her attitude exudes confidence. She has no trouble wrapping Caesar and the audience around her finger, earning a boisterous applause when her interview ends. Cato’s angle is not surprising. He answers confidently whenever Caesar asks him a question, emphasizing his skills every chance he gets. The other tributes are quiet, or shy, or in awe. Some of them have trouble finding their words while others have prepared well. Rue charms everyone by talking about home and her surprising training score. The boy from her district, Thresh, is sullen and mysterious in his own way. Then, when he sits down in his chair again, it’s Katniss’ turn. 

She walks up in her heels, her dress flowing around her. If she made an impression at the opening ceremony, she’s cementing it tonight. She shakes Caesar’s hand and they get to talking. He’s great at making the tributes feel at ease, it seems. Even Katniss makes a joke, which gets her some laughs from the audience. Caesar rightfully comments on her outfit of the night, and bids Katniss to stand up. The audience oohs and aahs. Then she does something more frivolous than I would have imagined from her: she twirls around, showing off the radiance of the outfit. The crowd loves it, loves her.

While Katniss is being interviewed, my chest pounds harder by the minute. Caesar is asking her about her score, which she deflects by saying she can’t talk about what happened. It’s all fun and games until he mentions the reaping, her volunteering for Prim. My heart clenches when she says: “She asked me to try really hard to win.” The audience is clinging to her every word, much like I am. The only difference is that I’m going in there with her. 

“And what did you say?” Caesar asks gently.

“I swore I would.” I swear it, too. 

The buzzer goes off, which means that Katniss’ allotted three minutes are up. She walks back to her seat and seems dazed. She doesn’t look at me as my name is called and I step up onto the platform where Caesar sits. It’s time. I hear Effie’s voice in my head and give all of them my most charming smile, ignoring the hammering in my chest and the clamminess of my hands. Caesar shakes my hand vigorously and his smile is almost frightening; his teeth look too big for his mouth. I swallow it down and take a seat. I have to imagine that I’m confident and charming, that there is nothing between me and these people who will be betting on my death from the moment the Games start. All that matters is making a good impression so I can help Katniss win. 

“Peeta! It’s so good to talk to you, you’ve been a very patient boy this evening.” He says, which earns some laughs from the audience.

“Well, Caesar, it’s been worth the wait.” I reply smoothly, smiling brightly. He holds his hand to his chest and looks at the audience, nodding his head at me as if to say ‘what a charmer!’. We go back and forth a little, and of course he asks me about home.

“I’m a baker, actually. My family owns the only bakery in town.” I swallow down a gulp as I mention them. Caesar is more than happy to take me up on that topic. He really knows how to make a conversation flow.

“Then you must be loving all the bread we have here!” And it’s such a silly remark that I can’t help but laugh. It’s a genuine laugh, too. 

“Oh, definitely! Did you know that some of my fellow tributes remind me of the breads from their districts?” Caesar looks perfectly intrigued. I go on a little about how the smoothness of the rolls in District 1 remind me of the girl tribute’s hair, or how the crescent rolls from 5 are reminiscent of the boy tribute’s curls. It’s silly, meaningless banter but it seems to have an entertaining effect on the crowd. I can hear Haymitch telling me to crack jokes, find whatever topics to mention that might charm them. So when Caesar asks me about my favourite thing in the Capitol, I have my answer ready.

“Oh, the showers!” I lie, but at least I have a story to tell about them.

“The showers? Colour me intrigued!” Caesar says, urging me to go on.

“The first time I tried taking a shower here, I couldn’t work them properly because they’re just so advanced!” Flattery always works with these people.

“Tell me, do I still smell like roses?” I actually move in closer to Caesar so he can smell me and then he does the same. In truth, he smells like an amplified lavender that’s almost too strong, but I just smile and tell him he smells divine.

“Oh, you! Isn’t he a right charmer?” Caesar asks the audience, and I look down as they start shouting their agreement. They’re in hysterics now, the display between Caesar and I clearly entertaining them very much. Then, Caesar starts getting personal.

“A casanova like yourself must have a girlfriend back home.” He says, and all of a sudden I feel like a small child. I shake my head, bracing myself for what’s coming. Caesar picks up on my tiniest cues and says:

“Handsome lad like you. There must be some special girl. Come on, what’s her name?” He asks. I sigh. I try to formulate my sentences carefully, not wanting to be misunderstood.

“Well, there is this one girl. I’ve had a crush on her ever since I can remember. But I’m pretty sure she didn’t know I was alive until the reaping.” I say, and I feel utterly exposed, confessing my feelings like this. None of it is even slightly exaggerated or altered; there’d be no point in being ingenuine. The crowd awws.

“She have another fellow?” He asks. 

“I don’t know, but a lot of boys like her.” This is also true; at school she’s been turning heads. I don’t know if she notices, though.

“So, here’s what you do,” Caesar suggests, “You win, you go home. She can’t turn you down then, eh?” He says, and it actually pains me to hear this, because I’m not going home. 

“I don’t think it’s going to work out…” I say carefully. “Winning… won’t help in my case.” My heart is threatening to beat out of my chest as I look Caesar in the eyes. 

“Why ever not?” He asks, completely confused. I will my cheeks not to become red but it’s futile. This is it. 

“Because…” I stammer against my will, “be- because…. she came here with me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The drama of it all!! I honestly can't read or watch Peeta's confession without getting goosebumps every time.  
> What did you think? :D


	11. Shards

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter to end the year with! I hope you enjoy c:

I’m zoomed in on every camera as I look down at my hands, blushing up a storm. The audience gasps and starts murmuring. A love story! That’s never happened before. It’s almost agonising, being exposed to the world like this. But the truth’s out. I don’t dare look around me until Caesar says: “Oh, that is a piece of bad luck.” He truly sounds pained as he says it, an edge of sympathy in his voice. The crowd agrees with him.

“It’s not good.” I say. It’s rotten, more like.

“Well, I don’t think any of us can blame you. It’d be hard not to fall for that young lady.” I agree with him, of course. The Capitol may have met her a few days ago, but I’ve loved her since I was five years old. I’m not even sure if I knew what that meant back then.

“She didn’t know?” He asks, and I shake my head. 

“Not until now.” I confess. I don’t know what Katniss is doing, but I hope she’s not too upset.

“Wouldn’t you love to pull her back out here and get a response?” Caesar asks the audience. My eyes go big at the thought of doing this out in the open, but as the crowd screams their assent, Caesar says: “Sadly, rules are rules, and Katniss Everdeen’s time has been spent. Well, best of luck to you, Peeta Mellark, and I think I speak for all of Panem when I say our hearts go with yours.” I nod a last time. The applause from the audience is deafening and I thank them quietly before Caesar sends me off and I take my seat next to Katniss. 

We stand for the anthem, which signals the end of the show. When I look around, I see that all of the cameras are pointed at Katniss and I. We’ve been edited to look like we’re closer together, when in reality we’re six feet apart. Now everyone knows. Now they might help me help her.

We walk down single file from the stage and emerge into a maddening crowd of tributes and stylists. There’s no point in finding anyone familiar, so I take the first elevator that is free to escape to the confines of the apartment. I’m still trying to calm my breathing as we shoot up, tributes and prep teams from assorted districts. No one speaks, but I see them looking at me, eyeing me up and down. Some of them look sad, others disdained. I suppose that was bound to happen. We make five stops on different floors before I’m alone. I don’t know what’ll happen next, if Katniss will demand an explanation. It must have come out of nowhere for her. But I need her to realise that none of it was fake, or for sympathy points. I truly do love her.

When I step out of the elevator, my thoughts are still racing as I’m suddenly slammed into something. All I see is Katniss, her hands on my chest and her face contorted in pure rage as I crash into some sort of side table. The vase on top falls down with me and I land in thousands of small shards of porcelain, pain piercing through my palms immediately. I look down and see my bloody hands, feeling sick at the sight. I’m used to cuts and scrapes but not this.

“What was that for?” I say, shocked at what just went down.

“You had no right!” She screams. “No right to go saying those things about me!” Her eyes are harsh and she sounds beside herself with anger.

Just as I’m trying to find some semblance of how to handle this, the elevator doors open and reveal everyone; Haymitch, Effie, Cinna and Portia. 

“What’s going on?” Effie asks, clearly in shock at the display. I’m still bleeding profusely from my hands. “Did you fall?”

“After she shoved me.” I say, looking at Katniss. She’s looking away. Out of all the things I could have prepared for, this never crossed my mind. Haymitch snaps.

“Shoved him?” I look between the two as Effie and Cinna help me up. They have to reach underneath my arms because my palms are raw. Effie produces a delicate white handkerchief and I refuse it, but she insists. I hold it between my palms and watch as it’s soiled by my blood.

“This was your idea, wasn’t it? Turning me into some kind of fool in front of the country?” She snaps back, spitting the words at him.

“It was my idea,” I chime in. I’m starting to pull shards from my flesh now, dropping them on the floor one by one. “Haymitch just helped me with it.” 

“Yes. Haymitch is very helpful. To you!” She says.

“You are a fool.” Haymitch says, disgust apparent in his voice. I’ve seen him angry before, but now he’s venomous. “Do you think he hurt you? That boy just gave you something you could never achieve on your own.” 

“He made me look weak!” She shouts. 

“He made you look desirable!” He shoots back, and goes on about how she’ll never be that on her own. “The star-crossed lovers from District 12!” It all sounds fabricated like this, like it is a game I’m playing. Haymitch knows I’m not, but maybe Katniss won’t accept the truth. 

“But we’re not star-crossed lovers!” She yells, and I’m surprised at how it makes me feel. I don’t have to imagine a world where Katniss doesn’t like me, but hearing her say it makes it more real than I’d like it to be.

Haymitch pins her against the wall and tries to convince her that this was a good thing. She’s having none of it, pushing him off and stepping away. She hasn’t looked at me since she was in my face to tell me off. Cinna comes over to calm her down, make her see reason. Portia pipes up to tell her that if she’d have known about what I was going to say, her reaction wouldn’t have been genuine. Some reaction it was. I start to lose my temper again, like that day on the train with Haymitch. 

“She’s just worried about her boyfriend.” I say, throwing away another piece of the vase that I’ve pulled out of my hand. I don’t even mean it; I know from the way Katniss told me that she and Gale aren’t close like that. But I let it sting me anyway. What if that’s really the case?

“I don’t have a boyfriend.” Katniss replies, but I can see the tint in her cheeks.

“Whatever,” I say, suddenly tired of this day. “But I bet he’s smart enough to know a bluff when he sees it.” I lie. There’s no point in convincing her, I realise. “Besides, you didn’t say you loved me. So what does it matter?” I conclude. It makes her stop and think for a second. It’s true, I might have just bared my heart for all the world, but Katniss’ true feelings are still safely hers. She didn’t take any risks in her interview in the way I did.

“After he said he loved me, did you think I could be in love with him, too?” She asks the others, searching for validation. They all agree that, yes, they did. Apparently she blushed and didn’t know where to look. It gives my heart the stupid sense to hope, but I push it down. Once she seems convinced by everyone that my ‘scheme’ had a positive effect, she turns to me.

“I’m sorry I shoved you.” She says, looking me in the eyes, finally. 

“Doesn’t matter. Although it’s technically illegal.” I reply. My anger has subsided, and she does seem truly sorry. But the fact that she got violent with me has had its effect.

“Are your hands okay?” She asks, concerned. 

“They’ll be all right.” I guess. They’re still really painful, but the bleeding seems to be stopping. I took out all of the shards that I can see and stretch my fingers.

Then, changing the mood, Haymitch calls us to eat. I’m not hungry, still nervous and in pain from the events of the night. When I try to pick up the cutlery, one of the cuts opens again and I try to wipe it clean on a napkin. But it’s becoming clear that I’ll need more than that; the more I use my hands, the more cuts start opening and bleeding everywhere. Portia picks up on my struggle and quietly asks me if I need to see a medic. I nod, almost embarrassed by how she's now having to help me, too. We excuse ourselves from the table and take the elevator down to a place I haven't been to before. The medical centre is behind the gymnasium and we enter through an inconspicuous door. Portia talks to a woman in a long white coat.

“Follow me.” She says, and leads us to a room where I sit on a slab similar to the one in the Remake Centre. 

Another woman comes in and introduces herself as Dr. Sewell. She takes a look at my hands.

“How did this happen?” She asks, turning my hands over in her own. There’s a slight blue tinge to her skin, likes she has scales. Even the doctors here adorn themselves.

“I tripped.” I say without missing a beat. I don’t want to implicate Katniss in any of this, no matter how hurt I feel. It’s not worth it. Portia eyes me but says nothing. 

“Tripped? What did you trip into?” She asks curiously. 

“A vase. I arrived at the apartment after the interviews and I wasn’t looking where I walked. Poor vase didn’t see me coming, either.” I say lightheartedly. I’m not sure if she’s buying it, but she doesn’t ask questions.

“Right. We’ll clean out the wounds and give you something to heal. Then we’ll bandage them up and you’ll be good as new.” I nod and thank her. I’m lucky the bruise is starting to fade now, otherwise I would have had to explain that, too. 

“It’s nice of you, to protect her.” Portia says. I shrug.

“I don’t think it matters that I tell them. She acted out of anger, and she apologised after.” I say. As time passes, I’m more and more willing to forget about the whole thing altogether.

“Still, any other tribute would have told on her.” She says.

“I think I don’t count as any other tribute. Especially not now.” I say, and she knows what I mean. After a few minutes a man comes in, armed with supplies. He’s wearing some kind of magnifying glass over his head and meticulously picks out shards I missed with some delicate pincers before applying a cream to my hands. The effect is instant; as soon as the cream touches my skin, I feel soothed. I watch as he applies it over every cut and blink at what I see. Are they healing already? They can’t be. But the Capitol’s medicine is more advanced than I can imagine, so who knows. He finishes by bandaging up my hands and tells me they should be good as new tomorrow. With the way the cream worked, I believe him.

“Thank you.” I say earnestly. 

“You’re welcome. And good luck tomorrow.” He says it as he’s leaving, but I still. Would he have seen the interview? He must have, because I can’t think of any Capitol citizen who’d miss anything to do with the Games. Who knows, maybe he’ll sponsor us.

Portia and I take the elevator upstairs and resume our dinner with the others. I have some trouble with holding a fork, but manage just enough to eat in time with the others. I can sense Katniss’ eyes on my hands.

After dinner, we all sit together to watch the replay of the interviews. I pay special attention to things I’ve missed; how the boy from 1 bragged about his physical strength, how Cato seemed unnerved by nothing. How Katniss blushed when I told Caesar I loved her. I shift in my seat as I watch my own interview, hating the way I come across. My idea worked, and I said what I needed to, but there’s something about watching an elevated version of myself on television that makes me deeply uncomfortable. We sit in silence when it’s over. There’s nothing we can say to change anything now; the Games start tomorrow and whatever we’ve done up to this point will show its effect soon enough.

Effie informs us that tomorrow we will be woken up at dawn to be transported to the arena. At ten o’clock, the Games begin. The people from the Capitol don’t like it when they have to wake up early, it seems. A look at a wall clock shows that I have exactly thirteen hours and twenty-three minutes left before... well, I might be dead. We won’t see Haymitch and Effie again, because they’ll be at the Headquarters where they will be spending time watching us and securing sponsors. It’s Haymitch who can actually send gifts through. Portia and Cinna will dress us a last time before we go into the arena, so we’ll see them tomorrow. 

Effie takes us by the hand and I find it already hurts less. The bandages are clean, too. Like I haven’t bled since they put the cream on.

“Thank you for being such wonderful tributes, it has been a privilege to guide you.” She says, tearing up. I’m about to thank her when she says: “I wouldn’t be at all surprised if I finally get promoted to a decent district next year!” That shuts me right up. I know she doesn’t mean more by it, but it’s a good reminder that Effie, as loving as she is right now, will not shed a tear when I die. She kisses Katniss and I on the cheek and hurries off, a sob escaping her as she goes. Haymitch is less sentimental.

“Any advice?” I ask as he stands before us, arms crossed.

“When the gong sounds, get the hell out of there. You’re neither of you up to the bloodbath at the Cornucopia. Just clear out, put as much distance as you can between yourselves and the others, and find a source of water. Got it?” I nod.

“And after that?” Katniss asks.

“Stay alive.” I’m reminded of him slurring it to us on the train, the day he hit me. But he’s alert and serious this time, so I nod again. I don’t think there’s any other advice he can really give us at this point.

Katniss turns in for the night and I linger behind with Portia. I ask her if she can make sure I have a token in the arena. I hand her the drawstring from the cloth bag that I retrieve from my room, explaining its sentimental value to me. Not of home, but of myself. It’ll remind me who I am. She nods and holds it close, assuring me she’ll do her best. I walk back to my room, thinking I might take a shower and order some more hot chocolate before I go to sleep. The Games begin tomorrow, and I hold the steaming cup close to my chest as I stare out at the city below.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, let me know what you think!   
> And a happy 2021!!


	12. Preparations

It becomes clear pretty quickly that I won’t be able to sleep tonight. The thought of being taken into the arena blindly with no knowing if I’ll survive the day is enough to make me so anxious that I pace around the room. The empty cup of hot chocolate sits idly on a table and I press a button that takes it away. I walk around my room, feeling trapped and hot and disoriented by all of the things in here. I press another button and gulp down water from the glass I’ve just sent up. I wish I had the cookies now; their familiar taste could calm me. But then I think of home and of my family and how they don’t care if I live or die. My mind is racing so fast that I’m getting a headache from everything I’m trying to process.

I have to get out of here. The air in my room is hot and I feel sweat starting to pool on my forehead. The closet provides me with a cardigan that is thick and warm, and it’s making me sweat even more in the short distance it takes for me to walk to the stairs. I push open the door with my hands and find that they barely hurt anymore. I’ll keep the bandages on until tomorrow, but this gives me hope that I won’t enter the arena with an injury. 

I walk to the railing right away, wishing to breathe as deeply as I still can while I’m not being hunted. The wind sweeps through my hair, around my jaw and right into the cardigan, which I thankfully wrap around myself now. It’s freeing to be up here and watch the city below go about its life. There seems to be some kind of party going on, which I suppose is because the Games start tomorrow. It’s also why the Games only start at ten; these people won’t be early risers if they’re up this late celebrating the impending show. I think about what happened between the reaping and this moment, willing myself to feel everything there is left to feel because if I need to let anything out, I have to do it now. I want to scream. Just one good, long, hearty scream at the top of my lungs. Fill them up as much as I can and let them drain out. I cover my mouth because I don’t know who can hear me, and in one go, I scream about everything that is unfair. The Games, the reaping, my family, the Gamemakers, the other tributes. Katniss. It’s unfair that we never got a chance, even though I know she wouldn’t fall for me. But I wanted to at least have tried. Tears sting my eyes when my scream dies down and I wipe them away with my sleeve. Whatever happens from tomorrow on, I know I’ll have mourned my life.

I’m still leaning against the railing when I startle. “You should be getting some sleep.” Katniss says, her voice hoarse. I don’t turn around, looking down at the city instead.

“I didn’t want to miss the party.” I say, collecting myself. “It’s for us, after all.” She comes up beside me and looks over the railing. The fleece she’s wearing is wrapped tightly around her.

“Are they in costumes?” She asks, squinting down at the colourful ants below.

“Who could tell? With all the crazy clothes they wear here.” I turn from the city to her.

“Couldn’t sleep either?” I ask. Of course I already know the answer.

“Couldn’t turn my mind off.” She says. 

“Thinking about your family?” I ask, because it makes sense. She has all of these people to come back for. Who root for her every step of the way.

“No,” she replies instead. “All I can do is wonder about tomorrow. Which is pointless, of course.” I can’t blame her. The thought of what the arena will be like is both agonising and intriguing, in the most perverse way. One year, the arena was a desert and tributes were dropping dead because they were dehydrated. Another year, there was absolutely nothing in the arena but a desolate landscape. Tributes were fighting each other with just their fists, delirious from exhaustion, exposure and hunger. I start to feel sick at the endless possibilities of torture they might throw at us. 

“I really am sorry about your hands.” She apologises again and I snap out of the horror scenarios. I see her looking at them, the way they’re hanging over the railing like useless clumps. It makes me think that she might have forgiven me for professing my love on television.

“It doesn’t matter, Katniss.” I say. “I’ve never been a contender in these Games anyway.” Even if my hands are healed by tomorrow, it’s still true. I’ve known it since Effie called my name almost a week ago. 

“That’s no way to be thinking.” She says.

“Why not?” I counter. “It’s true. My best hope is to not disgrace myself and..” I hesitate; it’s a feeling I haven’t been able to figure out for myself yet. But here I am, the words slipping away because I can’t stop them around her.

“And what?” She gently prods.

“I don’t know how to say it exactly. Only… I want to die as myself. Does that make any sense?” She shakes her head.

“I don’t want them to change me in there. Turn me into some kind of monster that I’m not.” And there it is. I’m not violent, or vicious. I bake bread and feed pigs. The Games might make me into someone I don’t know. It happens; some tributes lose their minds under the pressure and start killing people left right and centre, despite being sweet in their interviews. The thought of that being me is unbearable.

“Do you mean you won’t kill anyone?” She asks.

“No, when the time comes, I’m sure I’ll kill like everybody else.” I say sadly, knowing it’s true. Fight or flight. “I can’t go down without a fight. Only I keep wishing I could think of a way to… to show the Capitol they don’t own me. That I’m more than a piece in their Games.” That they can’t pick out random kids and turn them into their toys, brainwashed and removed from themselves.

“But you’re not. None of us are. That’s how the Games work.” Katniss says. I try to explain myself better.

“Okay, but within that framework, there’s still you, there’s still me. Don’t you see?” We can’t just shed our skin like a snake.

“A little. Only… no offense, but who cares, Peeta?” She says, biting her lip.

“I do.” I reply, a little more harsh. “I mean, what else am I allowed to care about at this point?” I ask her, locking eyes. I’m not scared to do it now that I have nothing to lose. Katniss backs away a little. My gaze doesn’t soften as she replies.

“Care about what Haymitch said. About staying alive.” Good luck with that. I smile at her, sadness and anger and fear overtaking me.

“Okay. Thanks for the tip, sweetheart.” It’s easy for her to detach herself, it seems. But not for me. Not right now. I use the term of endearment like Haymitch does, and it makes her bristle.

“Look, if you want to spend the last hours of your life planning some noble death in the arena, that’s your choice. I want to spend mine in District 12.” She says, determined and matter-of-factly. Trust me, I think. I’ll work on it.

“Wouldn’t surprise me if you do.” I say. “Give my mother my best when you make it back, will you?” I ignore the pang in my heart at the thought of my mother.

“Count on it.” Then she turns and leaves me alone. My sentiments from fifteen minutes ago seem far away as I let my emotions overtake me again. She might think I’m a fool for worrying about my integrity, but I’m not counting on making it back. My dignity is all I have left. Still, I don’t waver from what I want to do. Katniss might not like me very much, but that doesn’t mean I’ll just let her die. I swear it to the wind before turning in.

When I eventually fall asleep, I dream again. I’m alone in the backyard at home, but it’s bigger than I remember it. It stretches as far as my eyes can see. I take a step toward my house but find myself unable to move; when I look down, I see my bare feet are stuck to the ground in a sea of bloodied bones. A scream starts to form in my chest as Portia shakes me awake and I gasp as I gather where I am again. In a bed, in the Capitol. She’ll take me to the arena, alone. I won’t see Katniss again until the Games have started.

“Are you okay?” She asks, her brows furrowed. I nod, swallowing. The sheen of sweat on my face is making me feel clammy and ill. I try to even out my breathing as she gets started. She gives me a set of clothes that I need to wear before we go to the arena. There, I’ll be dressed for the actual games. I drink another tall glass of water as Portia takes off the bandages on my hands. She looks pleased and relieved as she does. I move them around, stretch my fingers. There are only faint pink lines where the cuts used to be.

“As good as new!” She exclaims.

“Got that going for me.” I say, and then we head up to the roof to a hovercraft that’s waiting for us. I only know what to expect because Portia tells me. One second the sky is empty, the next it’s filled with the sleek edges of the aircraft. I step onto a ladder and some kind of current glues me to it; I can’t move even if I wanted to. When we’re safely inside, a man comes up to me. I’m still frozen in place.

“This is your tracker, Peeta. It’ll just be a second.” He takes a thick syringe and injects the tracker into my arm. I grind my teeth at the sharp pain; it’s different altogether than the shards were. But it’s over in a second, as he said. Now the Gamemakers will know exactly where I am at all times.

I’m finally released from the ladder’s strange hold as Portia is brought up. An Avox directs us to a room where we can eat breakfast. I’m tired and anxious, but I eat anyway. I have just a few sips of hot chocolate, because otherwise the richness of it could make me nauseous. And the last thing I need is to go in with an empty stomach. I eat as much as I can, Portia joining me for a light breakfast of her own.

“So, do Capitol people just.... choose to eat this little?” I ask her. She looks at me, an amused smile on her face.

“You must think we’re awful, picking at food like this.” She says, looking at her virtually untouched plate. 

“I don’t.” Eh, I kind of do. “I just wonder what it’s like, to have so much of everything.” I say honestly. She just looks at me and sighs. She can’t find an answer to that, either.

After about half an hour, the windows of the hovercraft black out. We must be approaching the arena. Seeing it from this high would give us too much of an advantage, so they block our view completely. The hovercraft lands smoothly and a ladder is dropped down this time. Glued, Portia and I descend into the catacombs underneath the arena. A robotic voice directs us to the Stockyard; it’s the final room before we are launched into the arena. The Capitol calls it the Launch Room, but Stockyard feels more appropriate. 

I have some time to shower, wash my face and brush my teeth. The hot chocolate wasn’t the best choice, in hindsight. I have another glass of water. Portia is there with my clothes when I emerge from the washroom. She’s already taken it out of the package; stylists don’t have a say in what a tribute wears to the arena, so she examines the fabrics before handing them to me. They’re simple undergarments, brown pants, a light green shirt, a brown leather belt, a hooded black jacket and leather boots that have texture on the soles. 

“Looking at this, I’d think it can get cold in there. This material,” she touches the jacket, “is made to reflect body heat.” I look into a floor length mirror. The outfit is basic and practical; I smooth down my hair out of habit and watch it wave up anyway. 

“One last thing.” Portia says, and I turn towards her as she holds something in her hand.

“I got your token cleared by the review board, like you asked.” I take the drawstring from the cloth bag gratefully. It’s no more than three inches long, but it grounds me immediately. I tuck it in a jacket pocket and close it off.

“Thank you, Portia.” 

“No need.” She says. She asks me if I need anything else. I shrug. What could I need that she could provide right now? A way out is certainly not on the table. We sit down and I try to eat a little bit more, but food tastes like cardboard and the racing of my heart makes me push the plate away. I take a trip to the bathroom because of all of the water I’ve had this morning. Portia and I sit in silence.

“Is there anything you’d like to talk about?” She asks. I look down, my mind blank but occupied at the same time.

“Just… I don’t…” I start to say, but think better of it. “No.” She nods and sits by my side until a female voice kindly tells us that it’s time to prepare for launch. Suddenly erratic, I turn to Portia. She doesn’t need words to understand what I’m thinking, it seems.

“Remember, Peeta. Run away from the Cornucopia, find water. The rest comes later.” She clutches my hands in her own as she repeats Haymitch’s advice. Her long eyelashes flick with every slight movement of her eyes.

“I’m rooting for you every step of the way.” She says earnestly. It’s comforting, and I nod my head wildly, unable to speak. She gives me a hug which I accept automatically. I step away and onto the platform. A glass cylinder lowers around me and suddenly I feel trapped and claustrophobic. Portia puts her hand against the glass and I mimic her. The cylinder begins to rise.

Sunlight blinds me as the metal plate is pushed out of the cylinder, and I blink rapidly to make out my surroundings. The air is pleasant, but strong winds lap at my jacket. Grass is surrounding my feet. The voice of Claudius Templesmith booms around me as he speaks to all of us and all of Panem.

“Ladies and gentlemen, let the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games begin!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's arena time!


	13. Bloodbath

In the sixty seconds we have to wait before we can step off of the metal plate, I try to gather as much information as I can. Panic threatens to overtake me but I push it down, breathing deeply and forcing myself to look around. We’re on an open plain, the ground packed tight. To my right is nothing; it could be a valley, but it could also be an abyss. I can’t see over the slope of the plain. Behind me I see a lake that stretches for miles, its waters calm. To my left and in front of me are pine woods. I can smell them in the air, see birds flying over them. 

In the middle of the circle of tributes lies the Cornucopia; aptly named because it displays weapons, food, supplies, water and other survival essentials that are up for grabs. I see a knife laying a few feet to my left and aim low. I should be able to grab that at least. There’s no telling where anyone will go; the Careers will probably head straight to the middle to snatch all of the good weapons and fight other tributes in the meantime. I’ve seen these bloodbaths before. I have no interest in engaging in one. Haymitch’s words ring through me: run away, find water. I see the timer go down as my eyes start to search for Katniss. I quickly see that she is about five tributes to my left, right in line with the opening of the Cornucopia. I follow her gaze and see what caught her attention: a silver bow and sheath of arrows. They must have planted them just for her. I will her to look at me, but she keeps eyeing the weapons in front of her. Please, I think. Don’t. Losing her in the bloodbath is unthinkable. With a few seconds on the clock, she assesses her fellow tributes and finally meets my eyes. I shake my head, hoping she knows what I mean. Three, two, one, … 

The gong sounds. 

No time to think now. I leap off of the plate, rushing towards the knife I set my sights on. I snatch it up quickly and hold onto it with shaking fingers. Though it’s no Cornucopia find, it’s better than nothing. Chaos erupts around me as I see tributes scramble everywhere; a girl falls dead a few feet away from me, a spear lodged in her back. Fear doesn’t even begin to describe what I feel. All of a sudden, it crashes down on me with a new immediacy that my life could end in the next five seconds. There’s no time to see where Katniss is and I pray to whatever entity that will listen that she’s gotten away. 

Still running for my life, I scoop up a packet of nuts I find on the ground. The few seconds it took me to slow down cost me immediately; I’m grabbed from behind by someone I can’t see, barely getting out of a headlock before they go slack and I break free. Hot blood sprays my clothes as I twist out of their grasp and I yelp, feeling it soak into the collar of my shirt. Whatever caused them to let me go, I figure it’s not because they were feeling kind today. I don’t look behind me as I race at top speed into the tree line, not risking another delay in getting out of the field. If an arrow catches me in the back, I’m done for. If someone tackles me to the ground, the same. I might fend someone off if they tackle me on pure strength, but if they have a weapon, it’s over. But no one comes, and I only stop running when I’m behind the tree line. Flight wins from fight today. I turn around to overlook the plain, concealed by foliage, panting heavily. The knife sits in my hand like lead.

It’s mayhem at the Cornucopia. Tributes are fighting and punching and stabbing away at each other wildly. Several of them lie flat on the ground with various wounds, their eyes turned to the sky in a sightless stare. I’m stuck to the ground, willing my legs to move but finding it impossible as I oversee the havok. Some tributes use their weapons as if they’ve done nothing else their entire lives. My heart starts to sink. The knife in my hand feels futile against the weapons the Careers wield. The packet of nuts is nothing in comparison to the bountiful stores hidden inside the Cornucopia. I hear someone crash through the foliage not far from where I stand, and that finally pulls me out of the daze. Trying to catch my footing, I turn my back on the bloodbath and move further into the woods as fast as I can.

I don’t know how long I run, but I know now that I should have run more at home. I wear out quickly, sweat trickling down my back and heavy breaths coming out of my mouth. I’m good at lifting things and concentrating on painting, not these longer physical trials. My chest burns and I have to stop frequently because it feels like my heart might explode. What I’m doing is dangerous; I should be putting more distance between myself and anyone else. But the feeling of fatigue is overpowering. The cameras must be pointing at me one way or another; they’re hidden all over the arena to track what we’re doing. If I want a sponsor, I’ll need to show them I’m worth sponsoring. So I take a deep breath and set off again, ignoring the pounding in my ears.

In the late afternoon, right as I sit down underneath a canopy of trees that looks like it’ll camouflage me somewhat, the cannons start going off. That must mean the bloodbath has ended. They will be picking up the tributes with the hovercrafts now. They’ll see their homes again in a wooden box. I count on my fingers. Eleven total. That means that almost half of the people who sat down for the interviews yesterday are now dead. I find myself mourning them. They didn’t hurt me and they didn’t want to be here. Would Katniss still be alive? I trust that her survival instinct is strong. She’s strong. But I’ll know for certain once they show us the fallen tributes in the sky tonight. I sit underneath the canopy for a little while, aiming to get my heartrate down. I'm already thirsty but there is no water in sight. There’s no sign of another tribute, not even an animal. The woods are silent and my ragged breathing sounds thunderous in my ears. Come on, I tell myself, run, find water. I start up running again once I feel ready.

As dusk falls over the arena, I can’t say I’m proud of how far I’ve gotten. I slide down against a tree and crash onto the ground, panting and worn out. The woods have started to slope down, but it’s hard to guess how far away I am from the nearest tribute. I haven’t picked up on any sounds, but that might give me a false sense of safety. Combine that with my frequent stops and I see my odds grimly. It’s like I’m only half heartedly attempting to stay alive. I'm more thirsty than I've ever been already, and I start daydreaming about all of the water I so greedily had just this morning. What I’d do for a glass of that now. I should try to find a source soon or I'll die from dehydration. 

The knife is lodged underneath my belt and the nuts are in my pocket. They’re meager findings, but they’re something. At least I can go down with a fight if I have to. I’ve handled knives at home, albeit to cut bread. I suppose it’s all a bit of the same thing, when it comes down to it. For now, I have a weapon and some food that could get me through a day. If I find water and lay low, who knows? Maybe I'll find Katniss and we can team up. Maybe it won't be hopeless.

The thought has just crossed my mind when I hear foliage crashing all around me. I startle, unsure of where to run because the noise is coming from behind and in front of me. I stand up, trying to find an out but seeing nothing. Whoever it is, they're closing in fast, trapping me.

“Lover Boy!” I hear someone yell, and my heart starts hammering at the taunt. Cato. They found me. I have nowhere to go; I’m not a climber, the trees aren’t an option. All I can do is pull the knife from my belt and hope I’ll be able to think of something. I suddenly, desperately, cling onto my life; I don’t want to give it up today. The Careers close in on me, surrounding me like I'm an animal. They’ve already formed an alliance. It’s typical for them to combine forces until the pressure becomes too high and they start killing each other. They use each other for help until the heat is turned up. But that means someone like me is dead for sure.

“Look what we have here!” The girl from 2 says. I think her name is Clove. She’s flanked by the girl from 1, Glimmer, and the girl from 4. They yell each other’s names confidently, not caring if anyone hears. Clove’s turning over a knife in her hand, going so fast I can barely see it. It's like an extension of her hands. I panic in earnest when Cato and the other boys descend upon me, until I’m surrounded on all sides.

“Are you lost?” He asks, treating me like a child. His eyes are wild and hungry, as if he's just eyeing me to see where he'll strike. My heart drops into my stomach. I grip the knife in my hand tighter.

“Gonna fight me, are you? Wanna fight all of us?” He says, and they start laughing. They’re loud and arrogant, certain that they have the upper hand. He moves in on me and pins me to the tree with his arm; I can feel my windpipe starting to get crushed. Blind panic threatens to overtake me, but I need to focus. If only I could breathe.

I have to think of something. Like I did when I lied about Delly Cartwright to save Katniss from interrogation. Something that’ll make them stop and listen. Cato applies more pressure as I cry: “Katniss!” He stops. Some of them start looking around as if they expect her to come to my rescue. That means they haven’t killed her, at least. Otherwise they’d call me out on my bluff immediately. But that wasn’t what I meant. I catch my breath, resisting the urge to cough.

“Is your lover here, too?” Clove chides, twirling even more knives.

“No,” I say, and I’m surprised that my voice doesn’t break. I muster as much confidence as I can, hoping it’s concealing my fear. “But I can help you find her.” I lie. I look them square in the eyes, each one of them. I can’t let them know I’m lying through my teeth and I’m about to have a heart attack. Cato still has me in his grasp but doesn’t move.

“Find her?” Glimmer asks. She seems intrigued, at least. “Why’d you do that? Aren’t you in love with her?” She draws out the syllable to make fun of me. I stand my ground.

I’m glad it’s dusk so they don’t see me going red to the tips of my ears. 

“We had a plan.” I spit out, coming up with it as I go. Cato raises an eyebrow. I go on.

“Look, I know how to find her. I know how she thinks.” In truth, I’ve racked my brain trying to figure out what Katniss is thinking about since the moment of the reaping. But they don’t need to know that. 

“So you’ll rat her out to us, huh? Some Lover Boy you are.” Cato says, but by the way he hasn’t moved his sword, I know I’ve got him. And I’m sure that the others will follow. He lets go of me and I stand on my feet unsteadily.

“Count on me.” I say, panting slightly. If I can mislead them, make them think Katniss is doing the opposite of what Haymitch told us, maybe I can bide her some time. There’s no way she can take on all of the Careers at the same time like this. I don’t even know if she’s hurt, or worse. Doing this enables me to hold them off of her scent and sabotage their strategy.

“If you try anything at all, you’re dead, Lover Boy.” Cato says, the others chiming in to agree. I’m dead either way, I think. But Katniss won’t be. 

“Noted.” I say, clearing my throat. The knife feels slippery in my sweaty hands and my legs tremble as they scrutinise me. From the way Clove is looking at me, I know she’d rather throw a knife into my eye. Cato looks pensive as he considers my offer.

“Alright.” Cato concedes. “You stay with us for now. Better get moving.” He says. I cough into my sleeve to conceal it as they stalk off, not seeing if I follow. But we all know I have no choice. I’m with them now. They move into the falling night, and I hate myself as I follow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're officially in the Games now! Let me know what you think c:


	14. 8

We’ve just made it back to the lake when the anthem starts playing. Chatter stops as we all look up at the sky expectantly, finally seeing who survived the first day and who didn’t. The Careers look up eagerly while I hold my breath and count the fallen tributes in my head. The tributes around me are responsible for most of the deaths today, and I hate them as we see who’s lost. The girl from 3, the boy from 4, the boy from 5, both tributes from 6 and 7, the boy from 8, both from 9, the girl from 10… My breath catches at the rising numbers, but the screen goes blank after the girl from 10. Eleven total. That means Katniss is alive! She made it out of the bloodbath! I don’t know where she is, but her heart is beating and that’s enough. I allow myself a private smile while the others aren’t looking at me, too wrapped up in claiming kills and triumphant whoops. This means that she’s out there somewhere.

The Careers have decided to regroup at the lake, which is their base camp now. Torches are placed in a wide circle and someone’s made a fire in the middle of it to keep warm. Of course they wouldn’t bother being subtle about where they are. The supplies from the Cornucopia are in a big heap a little further away from the fire. They’ve recruited the boy from 3 to watch over them, which is odd. He’s holding a mace with unsure hands as he walks around the pile. I don’t dare ask what the point of it is. In fact, I haven’t opened my mouth since they found me in the woods. The only thing I’ve done is keep my head down and sunk down on my knees when we reached the lake to drink.

“Let’s rest for now and get up early. Catch some of them in their sleep.” Cato suggests, and the others chime in greedily. Some of them even yawn. I’m wide awake despite not having slept properly yesterday, and the idea of dozing off surrounded by these tributes frightens me. But I have to put my trust in them now and hope I’m valuable enough to them through my connection with Katniss. I can’t go on without sleep even if I wanted to. 

They make a deal about who stays awake, taking turns standing guard. Not that any other tributes would dream of attacking them. With a bomb maybe, yes. Or if Katniss had her bow and arrows, she could pick them off one by one as they sleep. But that bow sits in the Careers’ supply pile, unused. Would she treat me the same way if she sees me with them? I’m no different than them at this moment. I realise that my confession of love and now teaming up with the Careers is nonsensical to anyone who’s watching me. I’m not the boy who’s in love with her now to the Capitol. Haymitch must hate me. But at least I’ve found water, so he can’t fault me for that. Only I know that I still love Katniss the same way, and I plan to use my position to her advantage. 

“All right! Go to bed now, or else I’m standing here for nothing.” Clove says as she positions herself near one of the torches, looking out over the plain. The flames cast shadows on her small frame and I can see one of her arms move methodically; she’s twirling one of her knives again. I wonder if it’s a nervous habit or simply a display of her skills. 

As Clove takes the first watch, the rest of us curl around the fire. I quickly realise that my jacket won’t be enough to keep me safe from the cold, so I walk up to the supply pile to find a sleeping bag, using one of the torches to help me. Clove’s eyes are trained on me, challenging me, but I ignore her. I settle down into the sleeping bag and tuck myself as far away in it as I can. I reach into my pocket and find the drawstring, running it along my fingers as I fall asleep. 

I’m shaken awake by the girl from 4. I heard in conversation that her name is Isla. The sleeping bag material bounces back body heat and I find myself nice and warm when I rub my eyes and come to my senses, realising with a start where I am and who I’m with. The others are waking up, too. Glimmer makes a show of stretching out lazily, as if she just woke up in a luxurious bedroom. I avert my gaze and focus on what I’m doing instead. I stand up quickly, fold the sleeping bag and put it in the spot where I slept. 

The knife is still in my belt, and I’ve taken a flask that I fill with water from the lake. So far, they’ve made no remark about me using supplies from the pile. They don’t seem to care that something is used because they have so many replacements, I guess. Besides, they’re too busy showing off to each other to really notice when something goes missing, anyway. The one good thing about being with the Careers is the abundance of food and drink. I gulp down one flaskful and fill it up again. Then I pick out a packet of dried fruit and eat it quickly, sitting on my sleeping bag. 

It’s still dark, but the flashlights and torches that are lit give me a good sight of what everyone is doing. Cato is polishing his sword with a cloth as the boy from 1, Marvel, and Clove are throwing knives and a spear at some apples in a sack. They hit at least one every time. I sit and watch them for some time, the fruit like glue in my mouth.

“Come on, Lover Boy.” Marvel pats me on the back when he’s done mutilating apples. They’ve all taken to the nickname with glee. “Let’s catch some bugs.” He laughs heartily and picks up his knives, tucking them in his belt.

The plan is to comb the woods first. They all had a lengthy discussion about it, ultimately deciding that the high grass at the other side of the arena can be combed through later. From what I’ve seen, it looks like a maze of high plants that has no visible paths. Privately, I think they’re intimidated by it. It does make me think about who would choose to hide in there. 

“We go off in a group and if you find one, tell the others.” Clove recaps before we leave. I assume telling the others means as much as shouting loudly. 

“Whoever finds one gets to finish them.” I see the dangerous glint in her eyes. Of course they’d want all of the others to see. How I despise them.

They’ve all filled their packs with bits of food and water. But the weapons are their primary concern. I keep the knife close, trying to make it more familiar in my hand; I need to pretend I’m proficient in it if I’m going to trick them. So I twirl it around like I would a paintbrush, failing a few times before getting the hang of it. I look self satisfied as I catch Marvel and Cato looking at me and tuck the knife away like I’m used to it.

We move, and I tag along, pretending not to dread it. I wonder how many tributes are asleep now; who we’ll come across. If I’ll have to kill someone. I shake the thought away. No time but the present. Besides, the Careers are so hungry to kill that I doubt I’ll have to do anything. 

The woods feel different now as we enter them; I no longer feel threatened here like I felt yesterday. Being with the Careers brings with it a false sense of reassurance that I’m safe. Of course I’m not, but I’m safe enough for now. Safe enough to tag along, posing no threat to them, only a lead to the girl that scored an eleven. I wonder if they’re hoping to find Katniss by accident and finish me off in one go. I shake my head again and try to keep up, drinking water profusely. For all of their arrogance, it can’t be denied that they’re efficient in stalking the woods. 

After a while of running around, I see Cato freeze and hold out his arm. Everyone stops in their tracks to look at the place he’s looking at. Sure enough, from a little way away I can hear the crackling of a fire. Moving closer, I see a huddled figure curled on their side next to the flames, their back to us. I know it’s not Katniss because of two reasons: one, this person has blond, curly hair and two, Katniss would never be this reckless. I know I haven’t needed to do much survival yet, but who starts a fire at night when they’re alone like this? Still, I dread what’s next.

Dawn is coming soon and the others are amping themselves up for what’s about to happen. It involves a series of complicated hand gestures that all of them seem to be in on, nodding excitedly. All this while, I hold out the futile hope that the person near the fire wakes up and runs away. But they’re fast asleep, it seems.

“On my mark.” Cato says. We wait until he drops his arm and the Careers break into a run. I stay behind them, unsure if I want whatever’s next imprinted in my brain. They’re on the tribute in seconds. I can see it’s a girl now, her hair tossing around wildly as the Careers ambush her. Glimmer has her pinned to the ground while Cato walks around her, his sword in hand. They don’t notice that I’m standing further away, not mixing in on the torture. Because they do torture her; taunt her, play games. Glimmer even cuts a piece of hair from her scalp. She’s already dead because they found her, why draw it out? Her agonised cries ring through my bones, glueing me to the ground. Finally, I see Cato lash out with his sword and the girl stops moving. He stands up triumphantly, the flames of her dying fire casting distorted shadows over his face.

“Twelve down and eleven to go!” He says, which earns hollers and laughs from the others. 

“Let’s see if she has anything for us.” Glimmer moves in. They already have everything up at the lake, yet rummage through the girl’s meager findings anyway. 

“Nothing good. Couldn’t get away fast enough yesterday, could she?” Clove concludes as she stands up. She handed me her torch absentmindedly and doesn’t ask for it back now. Finally, I can pretend to do something other than stand there and hate them. 

“Come on, better clear out so they can get the body before it starts stinking.” Cato says. The others agree and we move on a few feet towards a clearing in the trees. The sky is silent, save for the flickering of the torches. I move around a bit, but I have no idea where we are. Looking up at the trees, I see nothing but branches and leaves. The torch exudes a comforting warmth on my face.

“Shouldn’t we have heard a cannon by now?” Glimmer asks. It’s true; if the girl is dead, we should have heard a cannon go off.

“I’d say yes. Nothing to prevent them from going in immediately.” Cato says.

“Unless she isn’t dead.” Marvel counters. He’s arrogant, but not in the same way Cato is.

“She’s dead. I stuck her myself.” Cato says a little defensively. He clearly doesn’t like his skills to be questioned, reflexively swirling the bloodied sword in his hand.

“Then where’s the cannon?” Marvel asks.

“Someone should go back. Make sure the job’s done.” Clove says, a hint of malice in her voice. They’re so unemotional about it that it makes my blood run cold.

“Yeah, we don’t want to have to track her down twice.” Marvel agrees.

“I said she’s dead!” Cato is starting to lose his temper.

“Then wh-” They all start arguing with each other about what to do. It’s clear that Cato’s pride is stopping him from admitting he failed to kill the girl. The others are trying to convince him to go back in without much avail. I imagine her lying there, utterly alone, bleeding out and in agony. Someone needs to help her. I speak up for the first time.

“We’re wasting time! I’ll go finish her and let’s move on!” I say, mustering as much confidence as I can, sounding fed up and impatient. As if I’m simply tired of waiting around. Good thing they don’t see my legs shake as they turn to me. It seems like they only just remembered I’m here.

“Go on then, Lover Boy. See for yourself.” Cato says, challenging me. I waste no time and turn around in the direction of where the fire is. Damn the Careers and their egos. I try to brace myself for what I have to do, but it’s no use. When I find her, she’s lying on her back with her hands clasped to her stomach. I can see the blood pooling there, soaking her shirt and jacket. I kneel, setting the torch into the ground next to me. She’s breathing, but it’s shallow. She doesn’t have long left. My breathing becomes shaky as I sit by her side, unsure of what to do. I don’t know if she registers my presence, but when I move, her head turns slowly and she meets my eyes. She’s crying. Tears spill down her temples but she’s too weak to make any sound. I hold her gaze, because at least I can do that; leave her in her dignity like this. She’s pleading with me, I realise. Killing her wouldn’t be cruel at this point. 

“I’m sorry.” I tell her quietly. She blinks slowly. I know she can hear me. “I’m sorry.” I take out my knife, the weight of it uncomfortable and foreign as I imagine what I’ll have to use it for. I don’t know what to do. She makes a small sound and I see her point a bloody index finger to her heart. I nod. She sees me and nods slowly, closing her eyes from the world. Closing my eyes and taking a deep breath, I raise my hand. When I open them, I arc my knife down straight into her heart. It’s a sickening feeling, blood spraying my hand as the girl draws her last, halting breath. I try to keep it together as I take the knife out and stand up. I’m happy she closed her eyes. I can fool myself into thinking she’s asleep like this. I cover her shirt with her jacket to conceal her wounds, not that it matters to her anymore. She’s free from the arena now. And because I’m away from the other tributes, I let out a single sob that I stifle in my sleeve. So far for not killing anyone. I hope the girl forgave me, but I understand if she didn’t.

I return with my bloodied knife and the torch, keeping my face in check as the Careers move back into sight. 

“Was she dead?” Cato asks expectantly.

“No.” I say. “But she is now.” The cannon fires. I pretend it doesn’t bother me the way it does. “Ready to move on?” 

We set off on a run through another part of the woods. The girl’s blood coats my hands.


	15. Snares

We don’t encounter anyone else that morning as pale light starts creeping its way into the day. We comb the woods, searching for signs of life from the other tributes. A sound, anything out of the ordinary. I’m relieved that we find no one, although I’m the only one in the group with that sentiment. 

By the afternoon, we’re back at the lake to have lunch and clean our weapons. I run to the lake first, pretending I want to clean my knife while I’m mostly eager to clean the blood from my hands. When I feel less like a monster, I force myself to get some food into my stomach. The pile of supplies is like a market. We walk around it and pick out whatever we want, not rationing or checking to see if there will be enough left. The Careers must be used to something like this; to always have enough. I know they’re closest to the Capitol, but the more time I spend with them, the more they feel like Capitol people. Brash and ignorant, spoiled even. I force myself to eat as they reminisce about this morning.

“Did you see her face?!” 

“Yeah! Like ‘aw no, please don’t kill me’.”

“So pathetic. Like that one girl I killed yesterday, she was screaming for her mom.” 

I try to tune them out, but it’s hard when they’re this loud. This talk of killing doesn’t seem to have an effect on their appetite either. They take bites out of everything they pick, finishing things and leaving others to discard later. What a luxury to throw food away. They’re no better than the Capitol. Their mothers have clearly never threatened with a beating for leaving a meal unfinished. Meanwhile, I try to keep down the bites I do manage to take.

“How’d you do it?” Cato asks suddenly, and I feel his eyes on me. I clear my throat, the taste of the dried meat I just had lingering in my mouth.

“Stabbed her.” I say matter-of-factly. I’m not sure I can keep my voice steady if I speak for longer. Her face is already there every time I close my eyes.

He nods and moves on, standing up to talk to the boy from 3. He’s pointing to the pile of supplies and then to the ground, and I try to make out what they’re saying but I can’t hear over the wind and the voices of the others. Clove and Glimmer are having an intense discussion about the best place to throw a knife and I’m almost certain they would test their ideas out on each other if the others weren’t there to restrain them.

They go hunting again that afternoon and return by nightfall. I stay behind with the boy from 3 to rearrange the supplies, pretending I’m good at organising. I’m relieved to be left alone with him; his presence is calmer and I don’t have to pretend to be someone I’m not. He tells me his name is Tera. They’ve stepped away from finding Katniss right away, and I get the creeping suspicion they might be catching on to her prowess. They won’t find her like they did the girl this morning; Katniss won’t make it that easy for them. So their resolve is to pick off the others first, easier targets. 

No cannons go off all throughout the day, and it makes me daydream about what Katniss is doing right now. Has she found food? Water? Is she hurt? Her picture might not be in the sky, but that doesn’t mean she’s doing well, either. As I stack food and weapons, my mind conjures up images of Katniss in increasingly dire situations and it’s getting harder and harder to shake them away. Calm down, I tell myself, Katniss is a survivor.

At night, the anthem plays and the girl from 8 shows up in the sky. She’s the only one. Her death is met with minor enthusiasm from the Careers, probably because they couldn’t claim it like the others. As her picture floats high above us, I apologise for killing her a million times in my head. But it won’t ever be enough. 

I sleep in the sleeping bag again, tucked away in my own world, mourning the girl I didn’t know. Mourning for the people she might have promised to come back to. We sleep around a smoldering fire which keeps me warm, because the winds on the plain would cut through me without it. I doze on and off, sleep staying just out of reach as flashes of what happened keep startling me. 

I stand guard in the early hours and look out over the lake, the sleeping bag wrapped around me like a blanket. The drawstring rests in my hands and I play with the frayed edges. My knife is tucked away in my belt. I hope I never have to use it again, but I know that’s a ludicrous thought in a place like this. 

For all intents and purposes, the arena is beautiful. The sky becomes a pale blue and pink as the sun rises over the water. The trees are hit by gentle rays of morning sunshine. Mockingjays, a special kind of songbirds, sing cheerful tunes in the growing light. They sing in peace. Peace. The last thing I would think to consider when I’m in here. I savour this fleeting moment, knowing it might be my last sunrise. That shakes me out of my daydreams fast. I won’t have peace here, and I shouldn’t. If I let my attention slip, it might be the death of me. And because of the choices I’ve made so far, I can’t count on help from Haymitch.

It’s time to wake everyone up. I start with the boy from 3, because out of all of them he’s the nicest. He’s frail and lean and tells me he used to have glasses, but the Capitol did a procedure on him before the Games that fixed his sight. I know District 3 handles technology and such, and I wonder if he knows anything about that. But we don’t talk about home.

Once the others are up, it’s clear that they’re restless for another kill. Cato is obsessively polishing his sword and Clove looks about ready to murder Marvel as he prances around the camp. He truly is something else, calling the other tributes ‘bugs’ and ‘critters’. Like he’ll step on them. I wouldn’t put it past him. 

“Say we explore the grass?” He suggests, biting into an apple. The others look unsure.

“Don’t know, there might be weird stuff in there.” Glimmer replies. Marvel scoffs.

“All right, scaredy cat. Anyone who does have the gall? Come on! Who knows who’s hiding in there!” He says, pointing dramatically. Cato sighs. After yesterday’s dent in his ego, he seems eager to prove himself.

“Fine. We leave in ten.” The others don’t question him. He’s certainly got authority in the group. They don’t ask me to join and I don’t offer. In some way I think they know they won’t find Katniss in there. It’s uncertain they’ll find anything in there except murderous creatures or quicksand. Just as they’re about to depart, an explosion goes off. The boom almost knocks me off my feet and shakes the ground. We all startle, looking around us. It didn’t sound like a cannon. Running toward the sound, I see the boy from 3. He’s standing a few feet away from a crater. The ground is charred and smoking, and I can see he lost some of his hair, too. 

“Sorry.” He starts. “Made a mistake.” Cato moves in on him.

“Better not make any mistakes with the supplies, idiot!” He scolds, pushing the boy’s shoulder. He towers above him as the boy shakes his head. What is going on? He keeps pushing the boy to provoke him, getting more and more worked up.

“Hey!” I say, running towards them.

“Let him do what he needs to do.” I say, no clue what it is he’s supposed to be doing. I stand between Cato and Tera. No one tells me anything, so I’m not even sure what I’m defending the boy for. But it feels good to stand up to Cato just this once. Cato looks between us, and for a second I think he might just stab us out of annoyance. His eyes flicker dangerously, but he steps away.

“Fine. But I want the trap finished by tonight.” He says, stalking away. They forget about me as the pack moves into the grass, loaded with weapons.

“What’s this trap Cato talks about?” I ask Tera. We’re alone at the camp now and a welcome silence has settled now that the Careers are out of earshot. Strangely, I feel no danger coming from him, despite the fact that he’s just as much my adversary as the others.

“The bombs.” He starts explaining. “From the plates. He wants me to boobytrap the supplies so only we can get to them.” I raise my eyebrows in earnest surprise. Didn’t think Cato would think that far.

“And how do you do that?” I ask him. He walks me over to the pile and points at roughly dug holes in the ground.

“I put a bomb in each hole. They’re just far enough away from each other that if one explodes, it won’t trigger the one next to it.” Clever. I say as much to him.

“They found me after the bloodbath as I was trying to dig out one of the bombs. Told me I could stay alive so long as I did this.” He confesses, an edge of sadness in his voice. “I figured it was better than meeting Cato’s sword.” 

I can’t blame him. Didn’t I do virtually the same thing? Promise them something in return for a few more days of life? I leave him to it as I refill my flask again. Never would I have thought that I’d be alive at this point, and I’m only alive through the good will of the Careers. I should break away from them when I find the chance, stock up on some food when they don’t see me. But not yet. There’s still enough tributes in the running and they haven’t found Katniss yet. I hope they never will.

The day wears on and Tera is busy compiling the trap. I spend my time folding my sleeping bag, cleaning up the camp. Anything to keep me busy. My mind keeps wandering off, thinking about a day from now, two days. I think about Tera and the trap. Will they just kill him once he’s done? I almost consider running away with him, disappearing into the woods with the supplies. An ally. But I stop myself from forming a plan; it’s no use. Even if we were armed, the Careers would outnumber us. I will myself to be patient, think about Katniss. I need to be alone if I want to find her.

The Careers come back with clean hands, grumpy and restless. No cannons have gone off in the time they’ve been gone. It’s been a while since the last death, I realise. The audience in the Capitol will be growing restless, too. They always do when there’s no blood spilled.

“We’re going in tonight.” Cato says as they arrive. “No use hunting during the day if they can see us coming like this.” He drops down his sword with a clatter and splashes some water on his face. When he gets up again, it’s with renewed fervor.

“You’re joining us.” He points to me. “Better start coming through on that promise of yours.” I don’t reply as he steps away, leaving the others to look me up and down as if they don’t expect much from me. I don’t care what they think, as long as I can fool them.

Cato goes to inspect the handiwork of the boy from 3 and looks pleased. We all take a look at the set up; bombs are scattered underneath the earth all around the pile of supplies. The holes look freshly dug and earth has been packed over them to conceal the explosives. He must be a whiz with this stuff, and I wonder if it’ll get him any sponsors. But maybe not while he’s with the Careers. He explains to us how to circumvent the trap; where to step and how to do it. It’s vital if we don’t want to get blown to pieces. I’ve never seen anyone use the bombs like that. They’re generally not even considered as weapons, but this 14-year-old just transformed them. 

After the sky shows no new fallen tributes, the pack starts preparing themselves to hunt. Glimmer picks out the bow and sheath of arrows. I’ve never seen her use it, but I suppose these Careers are proficient in weapons all around. Clove stocks up on knives, picking out some dangerous looking ones, as Cato puts away his sword and Isla is holding a trident.

The boy from 3 is staying back again, to guard the supplies. Wouldn’t he just run off? None of the others seem too concerned about it. I would if I were him, thinking back on my makeshift plan from earlier. But maybe he’s scared of what happens when he does. 

Cato pushes a spear into my hands and I don’t object. Marvel seems a bit annoyed about someone else using his weapon of choice, but says nothing. Together with the knife, I can really be dangerous now. A weird sense of power surges through me and I abhor it. I refill my flask and pick out some more dried fruit from the supply pile, gingerly stepping between the bombs in a complicated dance. I’m sweating by the time I make it back.

Off we go. Armed with weapons and flashlights, we stalk into the woods again. The spear in my hand throws me off, and I have to adjust it constantly as we run. No taunting today, just running. I find that my days of running and activity have increased my stamina and I have less trouble keeping up with them, though I still need copious amounts of water. 

The pool of tributes may not have slimmed down during the last day, but with the Careers and I all in one pack and the boy from 3 standing guard at the lake, there are only five tributes left. One of which is Katniss. So the odds of encountering the others are low, because if you’ve made it this far, you’ve obviously got some sense of self-preservation. It makes the Careers slightly less arrogant in their pursuit.

We’ve been running for about an hour when Clove stops in her tracks.

“Ssh!” She hisses, which makes more sound than we were making in the first place. We stand still and listen for anything out of the ordinary. Her posture goes slack as she sighs.

“Just a rabbit. Let’s move.” Glimmers huffs in disdain. They don’t seem to like each other very much. What happens if they suddenly turn on each other? I ponder what kind of fight it would be as we continue.

Hours pass and I drink greedily from the flask. The luxury of returning to the lake has made me lazy. My initial feeling of endurance is completely gone now; my legs and arms are sore and stiff from the exercise and I hide how out of breath I am. The others have a serious amount of stamina. Even Clove, who’s a head shorter than me, seems completely fine with running for hours on end. 

Another hour later and still nothing. I’m secretly relieved that we won’t have a repeat of two days ago with the girl from 8. But I’m clearly in the minority.

“Where are they hiding?!” Cato says, exasperated. We stop to eat something, Cato crashing down on the ground but quickly standing up again to pace. I’m cramming some pieces of apple into my mouth when Cato turns on me.

“Four days and no sign of that crush of yours, Lover Boy. You said you’d know where to find her.” His eyes are intense in the flickering lights of the torches. I swallow.

“So? Find her. Now.” He demands. His hand goes to his sword reflexively, but he stops himself.

“How would you-” I start to argue, and he’s on me in a split second.

“Find. Her.” He’s pushing his index finger into my chest with every word. So far for tagging along quietly. I nod wildly, racking my brain for what I can say that would sound logical to them. Run, find water. Find the opposite of that, something only I know wouldn’t make sense. I think for a moment, listing off things in my mind I know about Katniss. Then I have it. 

“She’ll be hunting now.” I lie. Cato raises an eyebrow, but lets me continue. I muster as much confidence as I can as I add to it.

“Game. She told me she hunts at night because they’re more active. We learned about snares during training.” The last part is true, but the rest isn’t. I think. I can’t imagine her crouching around in the dark. But it’s the best I can give without giving away actually valuable information.

“She hunts?” Cato says. “Well, let the hunter become prey.” He brags, which earns some whoops from the others. I truly hope I haven’t just given away too much. But I focussed on snares, not weapons. They still don’t know what she’s capable of. They all stand again and pack up, leaving the containers for food they used behind like they don’t care about leaving evidence. With a start I realise they’re waiting for me to move. I lead the way blindly, pretending I have a trail. The spear in my hand throws off my balance but I pretend I’ve seen something when I threaten to keel over.

“We have to look at the ground, find her snares. She’ll be close.” I tell them. I pray that I’m not accidentally leading them to her for real. We scope out the woods, looking for any twigs or twine, and actually find one of them. My heart sinks at Glimmer’s gasp.

“Got one!” Glimmers hisses, pointing down. We look at the simple snare. It’s not far away from where we found the girl from 8 and the fire. Was she close to us then? I hope she’s put a lot more distance between us since. 

“Would you look at that.” Cato nods. “Seems like you’re worth your salt.” I exhale in relief as we move on. Coming upon that snare was a rare piece of luck.

We move into the early hours with no trace of Katniss, or anyone else for that matter. Finding the snare distracted them for a while, but they’re restless again. I feel like I’m surrounded by a pack of wolves. 

“This is useless.” Marvel complains, pushing his spear into the ground and pulling it out again. Like a petulant child.

“We should go back to-” Glimmer suggests, but I can’t hear the rest of her sentence. A ball of fire is headed our way, hissing as it goes.


	16. Tracker Jackers

Smoke and heat descend on us in seconds as we scramble to get away. A wall of fire has appeared out of thin air, blazing hot and overtaking the woods in minutes. Already the atmosphere is becoming stifling. We duck and jump wildly, avoiding falling branches and flying sparks. I trip over a tree root and feel the fabric of my pants catch on fire as I get up. Without thinking, I hit my legs to put it out. The others are ahead of me but still in sight. All of a sudden, another fireball hisses past me and grazes me in the chest. I yelp as I feel my skin burn, so much worse than any burn I’ve ever sustained at home. I start running again, ducking as I hear other fireballs coming from all sides. The Gamemakers must be behind this attack. It happens when the audience in the Capitol threatens to become bored. I curse them out in my head as I run through a world of smoke. My eyes water, my throat and nose burn. I cover my mouth with my jacket while my other hand still holds on to the spear. A part of myself can’t let it go, even as the weight of it threatens to drag me down. Who knows what I’ll find at the end of this fire. Because this is no random outbreak; we must be close to other tributes. They’re herding us together like sheep.

We run for what feels like hours, and I can hear the Careers ahead of me, their coughs and screams. Some of them sustain serious burns from the sound of it, their yelps high at the immediate pain. I’m soaked in sweat and my eyes are so sensitive that I’m scared I’ll blink and see nothing. My legs are buckling from pain and fatigue. I don’t know how long I’ll be able to outrun the fire if this continues. After another fireball narrowly misses my head and I duck painfully into a scrub, we seem to come to the end of it. I wait, lying on the ground, panting and sick. Expecting a fireball to end my life there and then. But nothing comes and the putrid air is suddenly silent, save for the others ahead of me. I drag myself up and use the spear as a walking stick to make it to the Careers, coughing violently. My lungs feel charred and raw from all of the smoke I must have inhaled.

We gather in a clearing in a part of the woods we haven’t been in yet, and a quick head count shows that the fire hasn’t claimed any lives. Maybe it didn’t need to. I bend over and retch, losing the water and fruit I had earlier. My throat stings and for a second I think I can’t breathe. I panic, falling on my hands and knees to where the air is slightly cooler. It takes me a minute to realise that I’m still alive and that I can breathe, I just have to calm down. I force myself to breathe slowly despite the stinging in my lungs and manage to fall back on my arms as I steady myself. The others aren’t in good shape either. I see them through watery eyes, the air still filled with smoke. They’ve all sustained burns of various degrees and I see Glimmer’s blond hair is covered in ashes. Isla and Marvel are both on their backs, coughing painfully. Cato is retching. 

“What was that?” Clove asks through violent coughs. I’m wiping away soot and sweat from my face with the sleeve of my jacket. 

“An ambush.” Marvel replies. He looks bright red and shiny. I think a fireball caught him in the chest, too. I don’t dare look at the wound that’s still burning through my shirt. We need water.

“Let’s go back to the lake.” Glimmer pants, looking scared. It’s the first time any of them felt real fear, I think. She’s trying to clear her hair from the ash but it’s to no avail.

“We can’t, we gotta be close.” Cato hacks, his forehead dripping in sweat. His sword sways as he bends over again to vomit more.

“We have to go now. I’m…” Isla pales and stops talking, trying to sit up on the forest floor. She takes a few minutes to catch her breath.

“We should find water here.” I say. They seem surprised to hear me. My voice is hoarse and crackles and the ache in the back of my throat threatens to bring tears to my eyes. Speaking hurts, intensifying my need to drink. I look at each of them, at their red faces and heaving breaths. The playing field has been evened.

“Great, genius. You find us some.” Cato replies smartly, although his words are less poignant as he heaves. I resist the urge to roll my eyes and lean on the spear for strength. Water. What did the survival trainer say in the Training Centre? Something about vegetation and something else… I plan to figure that out soon. 

“Come on then.” I stumble forward, leaning on my spear even more. I don’t have the slightest clue where I’m going, but I’m in pain and I don’t care about the Careers behind me. Going back to the lake just isn’t an option; we’re too far away. I don’t look back but I hear their dragging footsteps and periodic coughs. I’m not stubborn, but this situation has made me realise that none of us are a match for what the Capitol can do. Let them grumble. 

I scour the ground in the growing daylight, still coughing my lungs out. Vegetation seems to be green here, and I see some flowers peeking through the smoke. Their bright blues and whites shine through all of the grey. Glimmer is hacking the loudest and when I finally turn to check, I see Cato supporting her. 

Out of sheer coincidence, I see mud. The wet earth squelches beneath my boots as I pass through it, sucking me in slightly. This is good. I walk on, feigning confidence, like I knew I’d find it here. This is my second piece of luck after finding the snare earlier. I grimly hope it won’t run out soon.

“We’re close.” I croak. My throat is bone dry. I finished all of the water from the flask and am getting scared about it now. Damn my wastefulness earlier. I knew it would cost me, thinking I’d have the luxury of the lake to go back to. As if the Gamemakers knew it. 

The air is finally clearing and I don’t feel my lungs burn as much anymore. Visibility improves slightly. I’m still having to lean on the spear, the tip of it disappearing in the mud that’s still underneath my boots. As I walk on, my heart leaps as I hear a trickle of water. I found water! I can’t believe it when I step into a small pool that seems to be fed by a spring. The sight of it is so calming that I want to sob. The others make noises of relief as they splash in behind me. I submerge myself completely, not caring about the others. Washing the soot and dirt from my face feels like a luxury. They don’t congratulate me on my find, but I don’t care. I find that I’m proud of myself for finding it, and that’s enough. 

I fill up my flask and stop myself after drinking half of it. Wait a couple minutes. Drink the rest. It smooths the pain in my throat slightly, and I relish the coolness that goes through me with every sip. When my head feels clearer, I start assessing my injuries. My shirt is in tatters in the front, revealing angry red skin. I see blisters. My legs don’t seem to have too much damage, only a few small burns here and there. The cold water brings relief like no other and I try to expose the burns to as much water as I can. That’s what I learned at home; water first, then the rest. Although we don’t have any medical supplies with us that I know of. I hope the burn will be soothed enough by water alone.

We sit and recuperate for a few hours; at least, that’s what it feels like. Glimmer comes to her senses and washes her hair. Cato is already back to polishing his sword with a piece of his shirt. His cough still sounds bad, though. I wonder how many of them had the sense to cover their mouths and noses.

“What do we do now?” Clove asks with a rasp. She clears her throat uncomfortably. 

“We keep looking.” Cato says. He stands up. 

“Someone must be close. They don’t put fire like that in the arena for nothing.” He muses, looking around as if a tribute will just appear from the shrubbery. He grips the sword and puts it back in its holster.

“Everyone in?” He asks, but his tone is a command. They eye each other. This is the first real danger they’ve been in during the Games and it seems to have had its effect. They’re as much victims as any other tribute, yet their sense of superiority probably inhibited that idea until now.

“By the time we get back to the lake, it’ll be night again. Waste of time.” He defends. He’s growing impatient.

“There better be someone out there. I’m not dragging myself through these woods for nothing.” Marvel complains, standing up gingerly.

“There will be.” Cato says, his voice laced with certainty. He eyes me and I see that familiar glint in his eyes. He’s out for blood.

“Fine. Let me get my bow.” Glimmer says with a sulk. The idea of splitting up is never brought up. Must be too tricky, not knowing what the others are up to. She picks up the bow and arrows, slinging the sheath over her head. 

“Let’s move.” And so we do. Afternoon has set in when we pick up a steady pace, still tired and aching. The woods slope down again slightly, and running becomes a little easier on my heavy legs. I use the spear as a walking stick fulltime now. I’m thinking about Katniss and the fire. It was too loud to hear anything over the crackling flames, so any cannon that went off would have gone unnoticed. Maybe the fire was meant to bring us all together. Her and the Careers. It would be peak entertainment for the Capitol. But it could be anyone, I remind myself. 

My worst suspicions are confirmed as I hear Marvel make an amused noise.

He points ahead, but I can’t see anything. My heart thumps as Cato makes a complicated gesture with his arm and they all disperse in a line. His arm drops and they take off on a run with renewed energy. 

I hear splashing ahead of us as someone scrambles to get out of a small pool, not unlike the one I found. The Careers are whooping again, albeit with coughs between them. My lungs burn at the exertion. They are ahead of me and catch up to the tribute, closing the distance as they try to get away. Please, not Katniss. But as I crash through the foliage into a clearing and see the tribute climb a tree, a dirty orange backpack and charred coat on her back, I realise that it is her. The braid down her back gives it away, though it’s shorter than I remember it being. My heart leaps at the sight of her but I quickly push that down, realising the trouble she’s in. Another thought crashes through me, burying me in shame. 

I don’t want her to see me with them. I don’t want her to think I want to be with them, to hate me for it. Because she will. Would she realise I’m doing this to protect her? I have a hard time convincing myself of that. I can hear her yelp as she finds her footing and climbs ever higher. She’s swift as a squirrel. We stop at the base of the tree, surveying our positions. There’s an uncomfortable silence as we look at each other. Katniss high up, wide eyed and panting. Us down here, with sneers and weapons. She doesn’t seem to have anything on her save for a knife. Her face looks thinner than the last night on the roof. She must have lost weight since the start of the Games. I feel guilty, with the indulgence I’ve had in being with the Careers. Katniss steadies herself.

“How’s everything with you?” She shouts cheerfully, as if she doesn’t mind her predicament.

“Well enough,” Cato speaks up. “Yourself?” I see the tension in his jaw as he speaks.

“It’s been a bit warm for my taste. The air’s better up here. Why don’t you come up?” She challenges. So the fire was definitely meant to lead us to her. I can’t help but think Katniss knew it, too. Maybe that’s why she sounds unfazed.

“Think I will.” Cato says confidently.

“Here, take this, Cato.” Glimmer says, handing him the bow and arrows. I look at Katniss and see her eyes widen. How she must long to get a hold of her weapons. She looks at me and I look away, polishing my knife on my shirt to give me something to do. I can feel the loathing radiating off of her in waves and swallow thickly. 

“No,” Cato says. “I’ll do better with my sword.” He moves to climb the tree, which prompts Katniss to go even higher. Once Cato has found his footing, Katniss has already doubled the distance between them. Cato attempts to move up higher, but one of the branches underneath his foot breaks off and he falls to the ground with a loud thud. He gets up, flicking away Glimmer’s attempt to help him. He doesn’t show it, but I see the flicker of embarrassment cross his face as he gets up.

It’s Glimmer’s time to try now. She manages to climb higher than Cato, forcing Katniss to climb to branches that are dangerously thin. I don’t want to imagine one of them breaking. But Glimmer hears the branches cracking under her feet and has the sense to climb down. Annoyed, she picks up the bow and a single arrow. As she readies her weapon, I think of tackling her to the ground to stop her, or creating a diversion. But even I can see that she’ll never hit Katniss. She holds the bow clumsily, aiming high and releasing the bowstring fast. There’s no way that’s a hit. The arrow lodges itself into a tree near Katniss and she pulls it out with a flourish. She waves it toward Glimmer, who is getting red in the face. She’s humiliating her in front of the Careers and the Capitol. Glimmer drops the bow and turns around, sulking.

“We need to kill her.” Glimmer hisses between her teeth, but I think her anger stems from embarrassment more than anything else.

“I know, genius. But she’s too high.”

“We could try climbing again? Clove is small.” 

“Excuse me? No way I’m going up there and breaking my neck. If you had any competence in using that bow you were logging around-”

“You have some nerve.”

“We have to get her out of that damn tree.”

“Yeah, but how?”

“Oh, let her stay up there.” I hiss at them, breaking off their little fight. “It’s not like she’s going anywhere. We’ll deal with her in the morning.” They know it’s true and don’t object. Katniss is stuck in that tree with nowhere to go. The harshness of my voice makes me sound indifferent, and I foolishly hope Katniss didn’t hear me. But I know that being associated with the Careers has already made her despise me enough. 

Dusk has begun to fall and we set up a meager camp for the night. We set the torches in a circle around us, warming us in the growing darkness. Without so much as a sleeping bag, we’ll have a cold night ahead. But the Careers won’t want to give up Katniss now for a good night’s sleep; they’ve got her where they want her. Helpless. Trapped. It feels unfair that this is how it is; I hoped that by this time, at least one of them would be gone. But I failed. The bitter irony of my plan to protect her through allying myself to the Careers is not lost on me. I haven’t managed to accomplish a thing. I need to think of something before it’s truly too late, to make this entire charade worth something.

I also know that my time with the Careers is ending soon. My sole purpose was to find Katniss for them, and now that they have her, there’s no reason for them to keep me alive. I have to get out of here, but not until I know Katniss can escape. And if she doesn’t… I shake the thought away and look up at Katniss, reminding myself that she’s very much alive. She’s in a sleeping bag on a high branch. The approaching night is making it harder to keep an eye on her. We’ll take turns standing guard tonight, but I promise myself not to sleep a wink.

The anthem plays, and for the second day in a row we don’t see anyone in the sky. The fire from earlier hasn’t claimed anyone’s life. But the entertainment of Katniss being hunted into a tree is enough to excuse the lack of deaths. We go to sleep, and I clutch the spear to my chest as I turn away from the others, keeping my eyes open. 

The night is icy cold and it’s becoming hard to pretend I’m asleep. The shivers that run through me are getting violent. I inch closer to a smoldering torch and find some warmth there, as Glimmer sits against the trunk of the tree where Katniss is. She’s snoring softly, which gives me some space to move. I turn back around, holding out my hands to catch some heat. I fear what the morning will bring. My brain comes up blank when I try to think of how to get Katniss and myself out of here. An ambush on the sleeping Careers would only work if it got to all of them at the same time, since taking them on one by one is a death sentence. Dread overtakes me as I see the moon move through the sky, concealed by leaves and branches. I’m running out of time.

The sun is coming up when a sound catches my ears. Turning around surreptitiously, I look around at the camp. The Careers are all sound asleep. So much for standing guard, then. I look up and find that Katniss is gone. Has she managed to escape? My heart starts to thump at her absence and I look around for anything that could give me some idea of where she is. Her sleeping bag is still on the branch where it was yesterday, but she’s gone. If she had left, I would have heard it in the crackling of the pine needles that cover the forest floor, so she can’t be anywhere but… My eyes widen as I spot her. I don’t move, but I watch her as best as I can through the branches. She’s cutting something. I can hear the faint back and forth of a knife on a branch. But what? I move, getting a better look. Fear clutches my heart. Tracker jackers. Genetically designed insects that sting once provoked. Their venom causes hallucinations, meaning that a lot of them could do a serious amount of damage. A whole nest of them hangs in that tree, and she’s cutting it off. Following the trail it’ll fall, it’s not hard to see what her plan is. She’s found her way out.

I scramble to my feet just as the branch releases from the tree. Tracker jackers are vicious; one sting of them could be fatal, if you’re unlucky. The others don’t get up until the nest crashes onto the ground, releasing the angry horde of buzzing killers. I grip my spear but drop it a few feet later and run, crashing through the foliage without the weight of it slowing me down. I don’t look back as I hear mayhem erupt around me.

“To the lake! To the lake!” Clove shouts at the top of her lungs, screaming as she gets stung. The lake isn’t even close, but she must be panicked. I pant and run, but the tracker jackers find me anyway despite my early start. One gets me on my leg, another right behind my ear. I don’t have sight on the others, crashing and shrieking as we disperse. Already, I can feel the stings go into effect. The world wobbles and tilts, warping with every stomp of my feet. I can’t hear anyone else now, looking around at the glittering trees. I have the overwhelming urge to go back and fetch my spear. I stagger, unbalanced and delirious as I turn around in the rough direction of where I came from. If I meet the Careers again, they’ll hunt me. I need something to defend myself with. Turning around earns me another couple of stings and I curse as I feel them on my chest, swelling immediately. The trees turn a vibrant orange and yellow and I think I might pass out. But I have to get back. I find it a few feet away from me and pick it up, almost falling over as I do so. I can hear someone grunting and run in the direction of the noise, my mind foggy and unclear. 

Crashing through the foliage, I hear a cannon go off just as I see Katniss. Or I think it’s Katniss, because she’s moving around in threefold. She’s pulling out an arrow as she kneels before what’s left of Glimmer’s body. It’s swollen and oozing, and only her blond hair is recognizable. My shock is immediate, but so is the relief.

“What are you still doing here?” I hiss at her, hoping no one has had the same thought of turning around. I struggle to stand upright, the ground coming at me. She’s clutching the bow and arrows, looking at me like she doesn’t understand what I’m saying.

“Are you mad?” I say, willing her to focus. Her eyes have become glassy. I prod her with the blunt end of my spear and almost lose my balance in the process. The one clear thought in my head is to save Katniss. Save her, and make it worthwhile.

“Get up! Get up!” She rises slowly, looking at me in confusion. I shove at her, pushing her to run away. Now. I hear someone behind me, grunting and panting. Cato. The immediacy of the danger makes my voice boom.

“Run!” I scream. “Run!” She finally does, and Cato crashes into me so I can give her a few precious seconds to put some distance between us. Cato is looking rabid, his eyes bloodshot. His skin is shimmering. A tracker jacker got him just under his left eye. I look at him and drop the spear, the world tilting dangerously. If this is how I die, I think, at least I kept my promise. He lifts his sword just as I turn to run, the metal slicing my leg before I fall on the ground. The glittering forest convulses as I close my eyes.


	17. Mud

Sunlight filters through my eyelids and I blink as the rays start to blind me, shielding my eyes with my hand. The branches of trees come into focus as I find myself on my back in the woods. Pain is soaring through me with every move I try to make, clouding my thoughts. My limbs feel heavy and my heart hammers at the smallest exertion. 

I slowly realise that I’m lying in the same place as when I was struck down, seeing Cato’s wild eyes in front of me in a flash. Painful memories flood back into my brain and I feel dizzy as I recollect what has happened. Katniss, the nest, Glimmer malformed and oozing... 

I groan and grind my teeth, trying to sit up. How long was I out for? A day? Two? The tracker jacker sting in my neck throbs violently and I think I might pass out again. I breathe through the pain, grunting again as I hoist my upper body into a sitting position. Through it all, I’m mostly confused about how I’m alive. Cato hurt me, badly from the way it feels right now, but he didn’t kill me. Was he under the influence of the stings, too? Was he so delirious he thought the job was done and left? All I know for certain is that they haven’t come back to check, but they might well be on their way.

My position is dangerous. Anyone could get me here on the ground, in the open. Even someone small like Rue. I’m defenseless, finding both the spear and knife have disappeared, and my aching body is nowhere near as strong as it used to be. In short: my odds have never been worse.

Then I realise that I don’t know who’s in the Games anymore. If I was out for a few days, who knows what might have happened. I must have missed any cannon if it fired. My mind wanders to thoughts of Katniss, to me telling her to run as she appeared to glisten and warp. I hope she got away. I will her to have gotten away; that putting myself between her and Cato made a difference. Even if it’s just for my own selfish reasons. And as for Cato, I figure the stings must have gotten to him, too. Otherwise I wouldn’t sit here.

I take a while to come to my senses and wake up, testing my arms and legs. I make it to the trunk of a nearby tree and relax against it, considering my options as I steady my breathing. I’m already becoming thirsty.

Right. I’m alone again. After having the Careers around me, the silence of the woods is deafening. I didn’t realise what a strange comfort they were, even if I loathed them every second. Now I’m wounded, alone, and I have nothing on me. Not even the flask in my pocket. I pat my jacket for anything I might still have on me and suddenly remember my token. I zip open the pocket where I put it the last time I took it out, and feel the familiar frayed edges of the short piece of rope. The comfort is immediate. I’m still alive. Katniss is too, I decide. She must be. I make myself believe it because it’s the one thing between me and despair. If my clouded memories of that day have any sense of truth in them, she has her bow now. It’s not over yet.

I have to get out of here. These parts of the woods are unfamiliar to me, but I think I have a vague sense of which direction the lake is. That’s the opposite of where I need to be right now. I give myself a minute to gather my courage, telling myself the same thing I’ve been taught since before the Games started: run, find water. It’s the only sound plan. And if I survived lying unconscious in the middle of the woods, then maybe they’re not looking for me, anyway. Who knows how beat up they are from the attack?

My determination takes a hit when I try to stand up and fall down again. I hardly dare look down at my leg. My pants hang open, revealing the wound that I’m sure cut right to my bone. I can still feel the agony of the sword cutting through my flesh like butter. The tracker jacker venom can’t erase that; if anything, it’s making it worse. I’m no good with blood on a good day, let alone this. I’d choose a thousand of those cuts on my hands over this, but of course I don’t have a choice now.

For the first time, I think about sponsors again. Haymitch can send me things while I’m in here, like food or medicine, I think. It dominated my thoughts before the Games, but… being with the Careers pushed it right to the back of my mind, because who would sponsor a traitor? Maybe Haymitch can send me something to help? Maybe they’ve seen now what I meant to do all along, even if I have no idea if my rescuing Katniss even worked? If I want that, though, I’ll have to show that I’m planning to stick around. So I stand up again, taking it slow, and find my balance. Putting weight on my leg makes it throb even worse, and I know I can’t go on like this, wishing I had the spear to lean on. But I have to find cover first.

It’s way into the afternoon when I find a pool. I don’t know if it’s the same pool I found with the Careers, but it doesn’t matter now. I sink down slowly, hissing at the pain spreading all over my body. I clean off my face and my hands and use them as a cup to drink some water. I’m not sure if submerging my leg is a good idea, but I do it anyway. I need to clean the wound, even if I don’t have anything after that. I lower myself, soaking my pants to the rim of my shirt in the pool. The stinging makes me want to cry and I lift myself up again. With some of the blood gone, I can see the wound better. As I thought; right to the bone. I gag at the sight of it and almost lose the water I just had. Okay, this is bad. This is the kind of wound that can cost you your life. The tracker jacker stings are nothing compared to the agony in my left thigh. Still, I have to go on, maybe find some place I can hide out. And hope Haymitch sends me something if he sees I’m not a lost cause.

The day wears on, and I’m having to drag my leg more and more. It stopped cooperating about halfway through my journey. The dull throbbing of it has become a constant rhythm and I can almost block it out by thinking about what I’m looking for. I realise what a complete joke I must be right now. Wounded, weak, frail. Any weight I put on before the Games has disappeared again. But I can’t think like this. I’m alive. Even if I’m hanging on by a thread, I’m alive. I still don’t think I’ll be alive to see the end of the Games, but I’m alive enough to find a place to hide. 

Hope surges when I hear running water. I limp as quickly as I can and am out of breath and dizzy by the time I reach the origin of the sound. A stream! The water is flowing at a leisurely pace and there are plants and mudbanks all around. I lean against a rock and drink again, relishing every sip of the heavenly water. Water is truly so good. I could stay here, lie low and drink whenever I need to. Looking around, I spot a place up ahead. It’s a canopy, sheltered by some underbrush and trees all around it. That could work; if I need to leave suddenly, I can just let the stream take me away. I limp to the canopy, half falling down on the ground as I catch my breath. This is nice. The vegetation covers me, combined with the unsuspecting colours of my clothes. If I lie flat on the ground, no one will see me here. I look up at the sky and see a crown of trees above me. A strange sense of peace overtakes me again, like that morning at the lake with the Careers. 

Back at home, my brothers and I would get up with my father to prepare all of the bread for the day. We would wake up well before dawn as we baked loaves and rolls, the scent of it overtaking the entire building and spilling out of the windows. Sometimes, when there was nothing to do, I would slip out of the back door to the yard and watch the sunrise. The colours of the sky used to fill me with wonder and it’d be a rare moment that I’d had just for myself. Sitting in the grass, my mother still sound asleep. A quiet, peaceful world. Then someone would call me back in and I’d get on with the work. But the sunrise would stay with me, promising that no matter what, at least I’d seen something beautiful that day.

I spend the day resting and venturing to the river to drink. From my thirst, I’m thinking I might have been out for a while. The ache that centres in my leg is spreading through my body until the trek back to the canopy becomes almost unbearable. I suppress a yelp at a sharp stabbing pain that shoots through my leg and hold it together. The sky that night shows no new deaths and after the anthem plays again, I can’t hold onto consciousness any longer. I close my eyes when I lie down and consider how I must look to the audience: Peeta Mellark, the boy who slept. I drift off into sleep, thinking about Effie telling me it’s a ‘big, big, big day!’ 

Morning comes again and brings with it the sound of a cannon. I’m completely disoriented when I awake. My head throbs and I can’t move properly, like my joints have stiffened and swollen. I can’t keep my head straight and my mind wanders every time I try to think of something specific. But the thought of the cannon cuts through my mind like a blade: what if it’s Katniss?

A noise from farther away startles me and I start to panic. Is it Cato coming to finish the job? The Careers might be hunting again. Can’t be sure. I sit up, rubbing at my face and smearing it with dirt by accident. The noise repeats itself again and I convince myself they’re footsteps, someone closing in on me. Biting through the pain, I stand up and drag my leg to the edge of the canopy. I can’t see anyone but that doesn’t mean a thing now. I wait five minutes and leave my hiding spot, willing myself to move forward. No tracks if I walk through water, I think hazily. So I walk into the stream, the current dragging on my leg even more. I hug the rocks, holding onto them as I search for new ground where I can be safe. My leg has started bleeding again, and in shock I see a smear of blood that I left on the rock. I take my jacket and try to clean it off, but it doesn’t work. I have to be more careful about this.

I drag on, becoming more restless and pained with every step. It’s clear that I can’t go on much longer. I’ve also not heard any other noises anymore, and I’m starting to think paranoia is getting to me. That and the throbbing in my head that’s threatening to topple me. I search for a place to rest and find that the bank of the stream is wider here.

I slide down against a rock and sit down in the muddy bank next to the stream. There are plants and grasses here, along with water close by. I’m cased in by larger boulders to my left. If anyone catches me here, I’m dead for sure. But if they don’t, I’ve virtually disappeared from the arena. I sit back against the rock, letting the sun bathe my face. This is nice. I move and scoop up a handful of water from the stream and hold it to my mouth, but my hand is shaking and I have to steady it with the other. I manage to get some water in on the third try. Fatigue is clouding my thoughts. I might drift off here, in the sun and encapsulated. I close my eyes…

BOOM. I fall to the side as I’m shocked into consciousness, since my left leg is no longer of any use to me. What was that? I frantically look around, but the explosion sounded from far away. It didn’t sound like the cannon that would signal a tribute’s death. Then a cannon does go off, only adding to my confusion. Something seriously wrong is happening. Apart from the explosion, that’s two cannons today. I whisper to myself, as loudly as I dare: “Please be alive.” I suppress tears at the image of Katniss, lying dead on the ground somewhere at the hands of a tribute. The thought of losing her in here makes me feel utterly alone. And I’ve done nothing to help her but prod her with a spear. I have to stay awake now to see who they show in the sky tonight. I feel so useless, sitting here, washed up next to a stream like I’m a plant. I’m sure no one will sponsor me now that I’m no longer truly in the Games. Haymitch hasn’t sent anything, not even some food. I’ve shown that I can stay alive, but it’s not enough. Has he given up on me, too? 

I sip more water throughout the day, finding myself satiated with that. I couldn’t think to eat with the agonising ache that takes over my lower body. My headache has subsided a bit, making the pain in my leg flare up tenfold. The sun is pleasant but too warm at times, and I start rubbing mud on my arms to help protect me from getting heat stroke. I wipe it over my face, too, and the cooling sensation feels divine against my hot skin. This should do for now. 

Evening comes, and with it, not much else. I must be so boring to watch after everything that went down with the Careers. It feels like a lifetime ago that I was with them, hunting Katniss. I don’t know at which point I was better off. What I’d do to catch a glimpse of her, to know she’s still breathing and in the running to go home. Even if my position here is useless, it’d be a comfort to know that she’s alive.

I’m lying on my back in the mud bank when finally they play the anthem. I’m half awake at this point, drifting in and out of consciousness. Luckily the anthem is loud. I hold my breath as they show the boy from 3, Tera. The explosion earlier must have had something to do with those bombs, I guess. I remember his explanation and his sad smile, and I find myself sad that he’s gone. I let out a sob as the next tribute is shown and it’s the boy from 10. Katniss is still alive! Relief washes over me and I look at the stars that decorate the night sky. Katniss is alive, and she’s fighting. That means that it’s not hopeless yet. I muse about what she might be up to as I examine the sky. The stars are set in constellations, though I can’t be sure that they’re real. I think they might make the sky artificial here so they can control it. I used to draw stars on cakes at home, using the small tip of the piping bag to delicately apply them where they needed to go. My fingers start tracing patterns in the soft mud of the bank, going through familiar shapes and swirls. I do love decorating. It makes me feel at ease, gives me one thing to focus on. 

My hands stop.

Maybe I can use that to my advantage now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think! c:


	18. A Change of Rules

By the time the sun comes up, I’m nearly finished. My mind has become foggy but it’s good to give me one thing to focus on: disappear. My legs are covered in mud and plants, carefully applied so as to mimic the rest of the bank that surrounds me. I only have my left arm to do now, since I’ve already covered my face, neck, and chest. The cooling mud is quite comfortable, and I don’t mind the reduced hearing as I sink into the soft earth. I dig my limbs into the bank some more. I can’t see myself now, and I hope no one else can, either. If no one wants to help me, I’m choosing to help myself in the only way I can. Who would have thought that icing cakes could be a useful skill in the Games? No sponsors, no Haymitch. I’m as I was when I was reaped: alone. And if I die here, I can accept dying alone. I had accepted my death before I’d even stepped foot in the arena. I'd rather it be on my own terms than by someone's else's hand. Cato has assured me that it’ll be a slow process.

The layers of mud and plants are comforting. The rush of the stream is barely audible, but it’s like a constant lullaby. I drift off easily, distracting myself from the pain in my thigh. I didn’t look at it while covering it up, merely putting the fabric of my pants over it so I wasn’t scooping mud right into the wound. There’s nothing I can do about it anyway, not without outside help. I can almost block it out as I doze, imagining I’m far away. So I lie there, covered in mud. Certainly an original way to go, so I’ve got that going for me. I wonder if the audience is even seeing me; but I figure it doesn’t matter either way. I’m sure there are other things happening in the arena that are more worthy of their time. It has become clear that I’m left to my own devices. I never should have put my hopes on Haymitch, I realise. Katniss is the one he should focus on, not me. Katniss is surely finding a way out of here. The thought puts me at ease.

I’m boiling hot as the day wears on, but it’s like my mind is not in my body anymore. Everything feels like I’m right under the surface and I’m not truly present. It’s pleasant, being like this. Like I’m floating somewhere nice. Like I’m not in the arena, but somewhere safe and warm, where I can’t get hurt. I’m so tired that I can make myself believe it.

The cannons barely register. I drift back off, vaguely aware of the danger they present but not able to put my finger on why that was again. “Katniss…” I whisper absentmindedly. Then darkness takes over. I see her eyes in my mind when it does.

I awake again as the anthem plays, startled by the burst of sound. My mind is able to focus on the sky, finally realising what the song means. Opening one eye, I see that Marvel is gone. I never liked him. He won’t call anyone a critter again. And then Rue. I hope she wasn’t in pain, that it wasn’t Cato who got to her. I hum to myself as night falls, a song I know from when I was little. Braids come into view, as well as a girl in a dress standing on a chair singing to her heart’s content. I smile to myself as I hum the final note, remembering a time when fear was a crawling spider, not a blade.

I sleep on and off for hours, maybe days. Time is fluid now. All I know is that I’m still somehow alive. I’m not in pain anymore. Only floating. Sometimes I shiver, sometimes I’m hot. The mud is a comforting blanket and keeps me safe as I wait. For what, I don’t know. It doesn’t matter now.

Until it does.

Trumpets play throughout the arena, the sound so jarring I shoot awake. My heart starts hammering and I’m out of breath by the time I hear a man’s voice ringing in my ears. Claudius Templesmith starts speaking. Is this real?

“Congratulations to our six remaining tributes!” He says with his heightened Capitol accent. Six? My mind is slow as I process the number. I seem to have lost count after the tracker jacker attack. Katniss and I, but the others… Cato? Clove? I can’t remember seeing Isla after the attack, either. Only Glimmer.

“There has been a rule change. Under this new rule, two tributes can win if they are the last remaining tributes from the same district.” In my haze, I don’t know if I hear him right.

“I repeat: if two tributes from the same district are the last remaining tributes, both will win!” His words sink in slowly. I struggle to string the words together and make sense of it all. If Katniss and I are the last… we both go home. The thought crashes into me like a pound of rocks as I realise the magnitude of what just happened. Rule changes never happen in the Games, not that I know of. I wish I had it in me to cheer. This realisation changes everything. My mind is clearer than it has been in days and with it, the pain comes back. 

Suddenly, I’m back in my body and my racing heart feels foreign as I become aware of my aching limbs. My mind, however, is unbothered and turns to Katniss. Should I find her? Is she hurt? I don’t know how far I’ll get and scratch the idea almost immediately. She’ll have to come to me. But will she be able to? What if she killed Marvel? Did he hurt her first? What if she’s too weak to look for me? I desperately wish I could somehow know she’s all right, but I’ll have to lie in wait in this mud bank. Then another thought hits me: if any other pairs are still alive, they’ll be hunting us now. My face hasn’t been in the sky. It’s important that I stay hidden, don’t give away my location to anyone that might hurt me or Katniss. Doing nothing feels impossible, but it’s the only sound plan. As I lie there with my mind working overtime to figure out possible scenarios, I find that I’m worn out. I try to calm down again and let daydreams whisk me away to a different place, hoping to see Katniss soon.

Sleep overtakes me again. I dream about Katniss finding me, her bow strapped to her back. Only when she sees me, she’s repulsed and scared. “You’re too weak.” She chides, stepping further away. My hands are lead and my mouth is filled with dirt. The more I try to speak, the more it starts to choke me and only panicked sounds come out. She startles, removing herself from me even more until she’s gone, and I’m alone.

I wake up frightened and panting in the middle of the night, looking up at the stars and hoping I’ll make it to dawn. My thoughts are razor sharp, my heart racing. Hoping that Katniss will come find me, but if she does, will she protect both of us? I’m a useless ally like this. The memory of my dream makes me question if this rule change will do anything at all. She’s better off without me on her back. Shivering, I somehow doze off again.

When I wake up a few hours later, the sun has appeared in the sky, promising a warm and dry day. I don’t see or hear anyone, risking a glance down the stream now and then. Moving brings agony with it, so I try to stay as still as possible as I once again wonder how I’m supposed to make it out of here. I hope that if Katniss does find me, she has something to help me. My days of attempting to protect her are long gone.

The sun is hotter than usual as the day wears on, and I’m thankful at least that the mud is protecting me. My mother always told us that heatstroke is deadly, even though we never ventured outside much as children. We weren’t allowed to play beyond the backyard, and usually only for a small amount of time before she would call us back in for an errand. I still remember the dubious looks she would cast as we came inside hot and sweaty, feeling our foreheads and tutting at the heat radiating off of us. She would order us to wash up before appearing in front of customers, because it ‘is a right horror to have you walking around like you’re from the Seam’. Hindsight has made me realise that she never cared about illness. 

I still feel like I’m floating, wanting nothing except to rest and lie as still as I can. My mind and body are fighting over who wins. Because as much as my thoughts are tangling into each other at everything that courses through me, my body is eerily still and heavy, like I’m a statue. Pair that with my camouflage for a combination that will surely make me invisible. I haven’t made it easy to be found. Until I hear her.

“Peeta! Peeta!” She hisses. Her voice is unmistakable, even through the layer of mud. I don’t hear her footsteps. Am I dreaming again? A mockingjay starts making the same sounds and I have trouble discerning anything. Then her foot splashes into the water and the sudden movement makes it real. It’s her. She’s found me! I push down the panic that is left from my nightmare and focus instead on the very real girl that stands a few feet away from me. She moves closer, her boot landing right next to my arm. Her proximity makes me almost giddy with relief and happiness, mixed with a sense of ease that is making me feel woozy. She’s gone through the trouble of finding me.

I open my mouth, unsure if any words will come out. I taste earth and grass but it doesn’t matter now. My voice sounds far away as I speak up for the first time in days, ringing through the sounds of the woods as I say:

“You here to finish me off, sweetheart?”


	19. Kisses

I rasp, my throat suddenly painful and dry. How long has it been since I had a drink of water? 

“Peeta? Where are you?” Katniss says, and I have trouble keeping my eyes open in the brilliant sun. She’s moving closer. “Peeta?” Her foot is a step away from walking over me.

“Well, don’t step on me.” I say. She jumps back and it’s amusing to see her reaction, because my voice is coming from nowhere. I haven’t seen another person in days; seeing Katniss is not only a welcome sight, but reminds me of the fact that I’m not truly alone. I smile through the mud because she actually found me, she took the trouble to look. She gasps when she looks down and spots my face.

“Close your eyes again.” She says quickly. I do so, closing my eyes and mouth. She kneels down when I open them again.

“I guess all those hours decorating cakes paid off.” She says. She looks impressed, which is not something I’d consider given my current situation. I smile sadly.

“Yes, frosting. The final defense of the dying.” I say.

“You’re not going to die.” She tells me with conviction.

“Says who?” I ask. I want to clear my throat but the effort is making me dizzy. Hearing another person’s voice, speaking … All of these things take more effort than ever and my eyelids feel heavy as fatigue crashes over me. 

“Says me. We’re on the same team now, you know.” She says. I make an effort to open my eyes again, the dizziness subsiding slightly.

“So I heard. Nice of you to find what’s left of me.” I say, not entirely sarcastic. She pulls out a water bottle and pours some water into my mouth. The feeling is so refreshing it makes me gasp. My painfully dry throat is soothed momentarily.

“Did Cato cut you?” She asks.

“Left leg. Up high.” She frowns and tries to locate where exactly my legs are supposed to be. 

“Let’s get you in the stream, wash you off so I can see what kind of wounds you’ve got.” She says, kneeling over me to help me up. Despite the state I’m in, I feel better than I have in days, and I’m not sure if it’s because of the realisation that I might get better or if it’s because Katniss is now my ally. I take a second to look at her as she’s trying to find me in the mud bank. Her braid is wilder than it was when I last saw her, her eyes rimmed with dark circles. She’s still the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.

“Lean down a minute.” I say. “Need to tell you something first.” She leans over me and puts her ear to my lips. Some loose hairs tickle my skin.

“Remember, we’re madly in love, so it’s all right to kiss me anytime you feel like it.” She jerks back but laughs, and the sudden sound makes my heart swell. I blame my boldness on the fact that I’m fighting to stay alive and really, what do I have to lose? She knows how I feel about her. 

“Thanks, I’ll keep it in mind.” She says and starts to help me up. Digging me out of the bank proves to be harder than it seems, especially because I’m not much help. The plants tangle around me and I try to be as still as possible while she tries to locate my limbs. After removing some of the plants, she tries pulling on me to get me into the stream. Nausea hits me like a train once I move, all of the blood rushing through me all wrong. I grunt as I try to move but find my body unwilling to cooperate with my mind. Katniss ends up dragging me forward and I apologise, cut off by a cry of pain after a particularly difficult drag. The plants won’t loosen their grasp on me and I seem to have grown tangled with them like I’m not supposed to leave. At last she’s able to tug me loose, but the pain is so agonising that I’m crying, hot tears cutting through the layer of mud on my face. I’m still two feet away from the stream and the thought of moving again is terrible. 

“Look, Peeta, I’m going to roll you into the stream. It’s very shallow here, okay?” She says, and I grit my teeth.

“Excellent.” She crouches down beside me again.

“On three.” Her arms are under my torso. “One, two, three!” She says, and with a grunt she rolls me over. The agony in my entire body is unbearable as pain cuts through me like a blade. Please don’t roll me again, I think. I’m at the edge of the stream now, hearing the water flow at its leisurely pace. My breaths come in pants as I fight another wave of nausea that was caused by all of this movement.

“Okay, change of plans.” Her hands are resting on her thighs as she squats next to me. She’s panting as well, clearly finding it at least as difficult to move me as I do.

“I’m not going to put you all the way in.” What a relief.

“No more rolling?” I ask, my tone hopeful.

“That’s all done. Let’s get you cleaned up. Keep an eye on the woods for me, okay?” I was so occupied with moving that I forgot that we’re not safe. I hope my cries haven’t alerted anyone. I try to keep my eyes open and look at the woods as Katniss starts filling up water bottles in the stream. Sunlight is making it difficult, though, and I feel sleepy from the exertion after not moving for so long. 

She gently pours water over my face and neck and I relish it, feeling the crisp coldness of the water on my skin. The layer of grime and mud suddenly feels foreign again, despite the fact that it’d been my saving grace. She moves on to my upper body, pouring bottle after bottle over me until she finds the zipper on my jacket. She unzips it, taking it off with difficulty. My shirt follows soon after. I feel exposed before her for a second, but I don’t care anymore. My headache has returned and without the mud, my skin starts to feel hot. She cuts the undershirt off of me with care, because it’s plastered to my skin. I know I have a burn on my chest and it must have caked in there. The total sum of my injuries starts to make me wonder if Katniss has any medicine.

“Okay, I’m going to sit you up now.” She says. I grit my teeth and let out a grunt as she grabs me underneath my arms and sits me up against a boulder. The blood rushes from my head and I feel dizzy again. But the longer I sit, the more it subsides. I keep telling myself to keep it together, to be strong. Katniss washes my hair gently and her fingers tickle my scalp. Then she starts picking the stingers out of the tracker jacker lumps, which makes me wince. She puts some leaves in her mouth and chews before putting the concoction on the painful lumps. They provide such instant relief that I sigh, leaning my head back. How does she know about these things? I wish I’d practised more in the plants and herbs section in the Training Centre, then I would have known how to handle at least this. 

Once I’m cleaned off, she starts washing what’s left of my clothes. I feel guilty about not doing anything, but I figure I’m more of a nuisance if I move now. My job of looking at the woods makes me feel a little useful, so I make sure I keep an eye out when I’m not looking at Katniss. She takes out a small metal tin and takes some cream out of it. Applying it to the burn on my chest, I feel the same kind of tingling as the stuff the medic used on my hands in the Capitol. She frowns when she touches my skin, and I want to ask what’s wrong. Maybe she’s figuring out how hurt I am. She takes her pack and rummages through it, producing a small container of white pills. She hands me a water bottle and one pill.

“Swallow these.” She says. I comply, figuring it must be a painkiller or something. I wash it down with the water and the icy cold of it runs through my entire body, making me shiver.

“You must be hungry.” She says, going through her pack again to search for food.

“Not really.” I say. “It’s funny, I haven’t been hungry for days.” She offers me some kind of meat and the smell of it makes me nauseous. I think it’s groosling, a specific bird that wanders around District 12. The meat is fatty and rich, but my empty stomach recoils at the thought.

“Peeta, we need to get some food in you.” She says. She sounds like a concerned mother.

“It’ll just come right back up.” I say, trying to convince her that I’m better off not eating. It’s a waste of food. She doesn’t buy it.

“Here, please try this at least.” She hands me a piece of dried apple. I take it gingerly, my arm heavy with fatigue. I try a few bites of it and it tastes like cardboard. Still, I push through until I finish the whole piece. She looks pleased.

“Thanks.” I tell her. “I’m much better, really.” I lie. All I want is to close my eyes.

“Can I sleep now, Katniss?” I sound like a child but I’m beyond caring. My eyes are drooping and my entire body feels like it’s asleep already.

“Soon.” She says. “I need to look at your leg first.” This won’t be good.

She very carefully takes off my boots and socks. After she sets those aside, she unbuttons my pants. The effort of lifting my lower body so she can inch them off of me is astounding; I’m almost out of breath when I set myself back down. She gasps as she sees the state of my leg, and I can barely look down. The smell alone threatens to turn my stomach. I look at her face, at the shock of seeing the wound Cato left on me. All those days in the mud did nothing to heal it, and I’m paying the price for it now. Not only me, I consider, but Katniss too.

“Pretty awful, huh?” I say. She composes herself and I can tell she’s trying very hard to appear calm.

“So-so. You should see some of the people they bring my mother from the mines.” She says, shrugging. I can only imagine the horror of seeing that. I never knew Katniss helped her mother. Maybe that’s why she knew about those leaves.

“First thing is to clean it well.” Katniss takes out a square of plastic and tucks it underneath me so I don’t sit in the mud. I’m feeling slightly less horrible but that quickly changes when she starts pouring water over and into the festering wound on my thigh. I steal glances at it after each bottle runs out, and the more it clears up, the more it looks like death. The stinging of it is nothing compared to the thought of Katniss touching it. I feel sorry for her as she goes. 

“Why don’t we give it some air and then…” She trails off. 

“And then you’ll patch it up?” I finish, looking at her with a sad smile. My own disregard for the wound has now made it that much harder for her.

“That’s right.” She says. She pushes some dried pear halves in my hands and finishes washing the rest of my clothes. I eat them with as much gusto as I can muster, but by the end of the second pear I’m having to close my eyes again to fight the nausea. My stomach seems to have become the size of a walnut.

“We’re going to have to experiment some.” She says, taking out some things from a first aid kit. She’s fared well in the arena, with minimal wounds that I can see and a range of supplies. Her small pack keeps producing new things. Ironic that I was so close to supplies at the beginning of the Games and ended up with nothing.

She takes those same leaves she used on my tracker jacker lumps and puts them on my leg. It doesn’t hurt as much as I expected, and after a minute some pus starts to ooze out of the wound. Those dried pears are really threatening to come up now. I can tell Katniss is having a hard time with it, too.

“Katniss?” I ask. She looks up at me and I can see in her eyes that she’s about to lose it. 

“How about that kiss?” I mouth to her, which makes her burst out in laughter. 

“Something wrong?” I say it as innocently as I possibly can. She’s already looking better and less green.

“I… I’m no good at this.” She starts. “I’m not my mother. I’ve no idea what I’m doing and I hate pus.” She starts flushing out the layer of leaves with water and makes a disgusted noise. Then another as more pus starts coming out of the opening. I want to laugh, because suddenly the hardened hunter has become scared of coming close to gross things.

“How do you hunt?” I ask.

“Trust me, killing things is much easier than this.” She says. “Although, for all I know, I am killing you.”

“Can you speed it up a little?” I joke.

“No. Shut up and eat your pears.” I oblige. 

She puts three more layers of leaves on my wound and my body’s weight in pus has come out when she’s done. It does look better, I have to admit. The swelling has gone down some.

“What next, Dr. Everdeen?” I ask.

“Maybe I’ll put some of the burn ointment on it. I think it helps with infection anyway. And wrap it up?” I nod and let her do what she needs to do. No lie, eating the pears has made me recover a little bit. I’m still hot and cold and slightly dizzy, but I feel miles better than I was an hour ago. When she’s done, the wound looks nice and covered with some white cloth she got out of the first aid kit.

“Here, cover yourself with this and I’ll wash your shorts.” She says, pointing at my underwear. They do look filthy next to the clean bandage. I take the backpack she’s handing me.

“Oh, I don’t care if you see me.” I say. I do care a little, but after her pulling buckets of pus out of my leg, I can’t say I have much to lose in terms of decorum.

“You’re just like the rest of my family.” She says. “I care, all right?” She turns her back and I don’t argue. I gingerly pull the shorts over the bandage, trying not to dirty it too much, and throw the shorts into the stream next to where she’s sitting. I’m surprised at how swift I’m able to do it after feeling so weak.

“You know, you’re kind of squeamish for such a lethal person.” I remark. She’s beating my underwear between two rocks.

“I wish I’d let you give Haymitch a shower after all.” That day feels like a lifetime ago now.

“What’s he sent you so far?” She asks casually. I frown.

“Not a thing.” I say. But the way she asked makes it sound like she expected me to have a list of things.

“Why, did you get something?” I ask, genuinely curious.

“Burn medicine.” She replies. That makes sense; they don’t hand out good medicine like that in the Cornucopia. I should have realised when I felt the tingling that reminded me of the Capitol. She must have had a bad turn when the fire broke out. “Oh, and some bread.” She adds on.

“I always knew you were his favourite.” I say. It’s more a fact than anything else, really.

“Please, he can’t stand being in the same room with me.” She replies.

“Because you’re just alike.” I mutter. They’re both stubborn and wilful people. Put them together and there’s bound to be sparks. Katniss doesn’t reply.

Once my clothes have dried in the afternoon sun, I slowly get dressed again. The burn on my chest and the tracker jacker lumps are feeling so much better already that I don’t have to be too careful when I pass my shirt over them. I’m worn out by the time I slip my jacket on, though, and close my eyes again.

I doze off sometime later, enjoying the sun and feeling better. Katniss’ presence has changed everything. I’m no longer an easy prey, despite my injuries. I have an ally now, and not just anyone. I wake up because someone is shaking my shoulder.

“Peeta, we’ve got to go now.” Katniss says. She’s close to my face so she doesn’t have to speak up too much.

“Go? Go where?” I ask, still a little disoriented. Doesn’t this place offer some safety? I haven’t seen anyone else in days.

“Away from here. Downstream maybe. Somewhere we can hide you until you’re stronger.” She says. That sounds reasonable, and I can’t say no to it. Katniss helps me get dressed but we leave my shoes off so we can walk barefoot in the water. She helps me stand up, and I don’t feel too bad as I stand on my right leg. But the moment I try to stand on my left, I want to scream. The bandage is painfully tight around the wound and it feels like my leg is being torn off as I put more weight on it.

“Come on.” She says. “You can do this.” 

But I find that I can’t. As much as I want to follow Katniss’ plan, I can’t make it more than a few feet before I threaten to pass out. The pain is making me dizzy and lightheaded. She sits me down on the bank of the stream and pats my back as I sit there with my head between my knees. The dizziness subsides slowly, but I can’t bear more walking. Still, Katniss urges me on and I lean on her heavily as we walk some more.

“There’s a cave up ahead. Just a few more steps, Peeta.” She says, and I focus on the destination as I try to keep it together. A few more feet. A few steps. I’m panting and shivering by the time we get there. Being out of the sun seems to drop my body heat drastically.

I sit there as she covers the floor of the small cave with pine needles and unrolls a sleeping bag. It’s the same one I saw her use in the tracker jacker tree. She tucks me into it and I feel like a child again. Here I am, wounded and weak, my only ally also my caretaker. She gives me some more pills and water, and I take them without question. But the dried fruit makes me recoil and I can’t get myself to eat any of it. I’m still full from the fruit from earlier. 

Katniss gets to work on the entrance of the cave as I’m tucked into the sleeping bag. She makes some kind of netting out of vines and plants, but tears it down in the end. She looks frustrated and tired as she sits down in front of it.

“Katniss.” I say. She comes over to where I sit, her expression softening. She even brushes the hair out of my face. I don’t know if I have a fever or not, but the sensation of her touching my hair sends a shiver down my spine.

“Thanks for finding me.” I say, looking in her eyes. I truly appreciate that she took the trouble to save me, dress my wounds. Any other tribute would’ve left me to rot if they saw what state I was in. 

“You would have found me if you could.” She says. 

“Yes.” I reply. I would have searched every inch of the arena if I’d needed to. “Look, if I don’t make it back-” 

“Don’t talk like that.” She cuts me off. “I didn’t drain all that pus for nothing.” 

“I know.” I concede. “But just in case I don’t-”

“No, Peeta, I don’t even want to discuss it.” She says, and she puts her fingers to my lips to stop me from talking. I just want to tell her that I’m thankful for getting to know this small piece of her, even if the circumstances were monstrous.

“But I-” I try to go on, but then she stops me from having any thought at all. She leans down and kisses me softly, effectively cutting off what I was saying. I close my eyes and kiss her back, my heart soaring as the realisation hits that I’m kissing Katniss. 

She breaks away far too soon. Anything I was trying to say before fades away. Her kissing me tells me that she’ll do anything to get me home. 

“You’re not going to die. I forbid it. All right?” 

“All right.” I whisper.

She steps out of the cave as I lie there, reeling from what just happened. Never in a million years did I actually think Katniss would take me up on that kiss. I’m not naive enough to think that this was purely because she felt like it. I know she was trying to shut me up. But as I close my eyes, I allow myself to indulge in the memory.

“Peeta!” She calls sometime later, although I’m not sure how much time passed exactly. Her voice sounds higher than usual, like she’s trying to imitate Effie’s pitch. She kisses me again and I startle because my eyes were still closed and I didn’t see her coming. But seeing her face above mine brings a smile to my lips and I can’t believe she’s kissed me again.

“Peeta, look what Haymitch has sent you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally they're reunited! I always love reading this part in the book, so I hope I did it justice!


	20. Sweet As Syrup

“Haymitch?” Katniss nods and starts opening the pot in her hands. The smell of food hits my nose and I turn my head away from it. The first thing Haymitch sends me is a pot of broth. I suppose it’s a nice gesture, but I’m not hungry. Something for the wound on my thigh would have been more useful right now. I look at the food again and realise that I shouldn’t be ungrateful. He must have had his reasons for sending us this. 

Katniss feeds me the broth, but it’s a slow process. Every spoonful of it seems like one too many. She coaxes me with endless patience, even kissing me between sips. The rush of her lips against mine doesn’t help with eating because it causes my stomach to flip, but I don’t shy away from it. After what feels like an hour, she scrapes the last spoonfuls of broth out of the pot and sets it back down when it’s empty. I feel full and warm again, despite how uncomfortable my stomach feels. Sleep overtakes me against my will.

The sky is rosy when I open my eyes. A strip of sunlight is shining down on me, blinding me for an instant. I’m sweaty and hot inside the sleeping bag, and find a strip of bandage on my forehead that Katniss must have put there while I was asleep. I take it off and find it dry, looking around the cave. Then my thoughts turn to Katniss. Where is she? Waking up here alone makes me afraid that she left for something and got caught by another tribute. Did Cato get her? Did I sleep through a cannon? I can’t have slept that deeply. I try to push myself upright out of the sleeping bag just as Katniss comes in with a pot of something. 

“I woke up and you were gone.” I say, trying to subdue the panic in my chest. “I was worried about you.” She laughs as she helps me lie down again, easing me into the sleeping bag slowly. It starts radiating my body heat back to me and I put my arms over the cover to find some solace in the crisp air of the cave.

“You were worried about me? Have you taken a look at yourself lately?” Fair enough. 

“I thought Cato and Clove might have found you. They like to hunt at night.” I say, remembering their excursions into the woods, the sneering and excitement they got out of hunting their prey. 

“Clove? Which one is that?” She asks, stirring absentmindedly.

“The girl from District 2. She’s still alive, right?” I ask. It suddenly occurs to me that Katniss might give me some insight into how many of us are left.

“Yes, there’s just them and us and Thresh and Foxface.” She says. “That’s what I nicknamed the girl from 5.” I nod. She’s the redheaded girl. So six of us are left. I’ve lost count of how many days we’ve been in here, but I struggle with the idea that 18 of us have died so far. And we’re nowhere near the end.

“How do you feel?” She asks, eyeing the bandage I’m still holding in my hand.

“Better than yesterday. This is an enormous improvement over the mud.” I say truthfully. 

“Clean clothes and medicine and a sleeping bag…” My heart skips a beat. “... and you.” 

Katniss reaches out to touch my cheek and I take her hand in mine to press it to my lips. I’ve seen couples do it at school before and the gesture feels right when I do it with her, feeling like we’re lovebirds. I suppose we are. 

“No more kisses until you’ve eaten.” She says firmly, and I concede. She props me up against the wall of the cave and I eat every spoonful of the food she’s made. It tastes fruity and sweet, like berries, and she’s made it into a mush that’s easy to get down. I’m surprised at how easy I manage to eat all of it. But when she offers me the groosling again, my stomach turns. It’s too rich.

“You didn’t sleep.” I remark when I’m done eating, noting the circles under her eyes. They’ve gotten darker since yesterday. 

“I’m all right.” She says. But even as she tries to convince me, I can tell she’s suppressing a yawn.

“Sleep now. I’ll keep watch. I’ll wake you if anything happens.” I offer, because if Katniss isn’t sleeping then she’ll burn out in no time. It’s no use sacrificing herself like this. Besides, we’re quite safe here. Whatever that means in the arena. “Katniss, you can’t stay up forever.” 

That seems to convince her.

“All right. But just for a few hours. Then you wake me.” She says, and I agree. She lies down next to me on top of the sleeping bag, holding her bow with one hand. It’s like an extension of her arm, the way she handles it so effortlessly. Even as she settles, her grasp on the bow doesn’t waver. I sit beside her and run my fingers over her forehead to remove the stray hairs there. “Go to sleep.” 

I keep my eyes trained on the world outside our cave, but nothing happens. Not even a bird flies past. Katniss sleeps soundly. Her face looks softer when she sleeps, at peace. Her lips don’t turn down at the corners, her brows are relaxed. I look at her face now and then and try to imagine what’s going on inside her head. The kisses and the touches have caught me off guard, no matter how much I enjoy them. She’s never expressed an interest in me until now. Maybe she didn’t want to confront her feelings, or didn’t think of me that way at first. Maybe she wasn’t able to think of me that way even if she wanted to, because we couldn’t go home together. The idea that we might has changed everything. I wish we could talk about all of this, about what is happening between us. Preferably without the entire Capitol watching all of it. But it’s no use overthinking about any of this, because so much is still uncertain.

So instead I think about other things, like how I used to spend hours in the bakery before opening, making sure we had enough ready so my mother would be pleased. How my father would be focussed on his work, flour smeared across his forehead and settling in his hair as he concentrated on baking. All of those early mornings when the world felt like it was still asleep, when birdsong wouldn’t come for another hour or so. That world seems so far away now that I have to tell myself that yes, that was my life. Those quiet hours were my solace. Maybe I’ll see the bakery again.

I sit there pondering the future for the first time since the reaping, my heart beating fast. With 18 tributes dead and Katniss and I a team, our odds have never been better. Could we really make it? I feel hot and cold still, imagining a life after the Games. The sweat that breaks out on my forehead tells me that I should calm down and let it be for now. 

It’s early afternoon when Katniss stirs, stretching her arms. She sits up, looking at me with a frown again. Her bow lies idle beside her.

“Peeta, you were supposed to wake me after a couple of hours.” She says, the accusation clear in her voice, like I’ve done something wrong.

“For what?” I counter. “Nothing’s going on here. Besides, I like watching you sleep. You don’t scowl.” I say. Then I add: “Improves your looks a lot.” This, of course, earns me a scowl. I grin at her, hoping she knows I was just trying to provoke her a little. She suddenly frowns again, but it’s different this time. She puts her hand on my cheek and looks at the water bottles that sit to my left.

“Have you drank anything?” She asks, picking them up and giving them a little shake.

“Yes.” I say, if you count a sip to clear an itch in my throat. She doesn’t seem too convinced and hands me some pills again. Then she watches over me as I drain a bottle of water, then another. My stomach feels heavy after drinking that much.

She puts some leaves and cream on my various wounds but leaves my leg for last. The pain is still there, but staying still has stopped it from throbbing too badly. As she starts undressing the wound, the smell hits me again. It somehow smells… worse. The air in the cave fills quickly with the stench that oozes from my leg and I wish I had something to cover my nose. Only when she takes the bandage off do I see how badly my leg has swollen, the stripes of bandage leaving grooves in my skin. The pus is gone, thankfully, but I’m shocked to see angry red streaks going up my leg. Blood poisoning. I’ve seen it before. There’s nothing she can do about it unless we get some serious medicine. 

“Well, there’s more swelling, but the pus is gone.” She says unsteadily, clearing her throat. Her calm is entirely for my benefit.

“I know what blood poisoning is, Katniss.” I say. “Even if my mother isn’t a healer.” 

“You’re just going to have to outlast the others, Peeta.” She says matter-of-factly, but there’s an edge of desperation to her voice. 

“They’ll cure it back at the Capitol when we win.”

“Yes, that’s a good plan.” I say. But I feel foolish now for dreaming about returning. There’s no way I’m outlasting four other tributes when we don’t know how long they’ll survive. I might not have days left. 

“You have to eat. Keep your strength up. I’m going to make you soup.” She says, turning away from me and getting up.

“Don’t light a fire. It’s not worth it.” I tell her.

“We’ll see.” She says. And really, I wish I could go after her. Stand guard so she’s not out there alone. 

She returns some time later, and in the meantime I’ve moved to sit on top of the sleeping bag. I even took some sips of water. I still don’t feel hungry as she comes in and the idea of what’s happening to my leg scares me. Katniss puts some damp cloths on my forehead, but they only provide relief for a few minutes. I really must be burning up.

“Don’t you want anything?” She asks. The soup won’t be ready for a little while, but I can’t imagine having anything to eat in the meantime. The water from earlier still sits heavily in my stomach. 

“No. Thank you.” I look down at my hands as a thought occurs to me.

“Wait, yes. Tell me a story.” I say. Anything to distract me from how I feel.

“A story? What about?” She asks, surprised.

“Something happy.” I tell her. “Tell me about the happiest day you can remember.” I say, and I watch how she sighs at my request. She mulls it over for a minute before saying: “Did I ever tell you about how I got Prim’s goat?” Of course I haven’t, so I shake my head and wait for her to start telling me.

“So it was the day before Prim’s tenth birthday, and I needed some money because I wanted to get her something nice. I ended up selling an old silver locket of my mother’s that she didn’t need anymore. The woman I sold it to gave me a good deal on it and I knew I could get something nice.” She explains. 

“I wanted to buy fabrics for a dress, so I went to the market with Gale later that day. I was looking at some fabrics when I saw the Goat Man.” She says, looking at me as if asking me if I know who she’s referring to. The only man I can think of is the old, ill man who has a small herd of goats. He sells their milk on the market. I sometimes get a cup when my brothers and I go alone. 

“I saw that he had a goat, a white one with black patches. It was lying down in a cart. I could tell right away that it was hurt. A dog must have bit it or something. Its shoulder was infected and the Goat Man had to hold her up so he could milk her. But it gave me an idea.” Her voice takes on that special tone again, the one she falls into only when she talks about home. I don’t have to pretend to be interested as she continues.

“I told Gale I wanted it for Prim, but he said it might not be a good idea. I asked about the goat and then Rooba, the butcher, came. Apparently she had made a deal with the Goat Man to buy it from him. But she looked at it and told him she didn’t want it because it was so badly hurt. I think she wanted me to have it, because I saw her wink at me after.” An amused laugh escapes her.

“We haggled about the price for half an hour but in the end I was able to buy her. I even bought a pink ribbon for it before I gave it to Prim. Gale carried it in and you should have seen the look on Prim’s face.” She says, looking in the distance. 

“She was crying and laughing at the same time. My mother and Prim worked on the goat for a long time, grinding up herbs and giving it to the animal.”

“They sound like you.” I chime in.

“Oh, no, Peeta. They work magic. That thing couldn’t have died if it tried.” She says. Then she bites her lip, catching herself.

“Don’t worry. I joke. “I’m not trying. Finish the story.”

“Well, that’s it.” She finishes off by telling me that Prim ended up sleeping next to the goat, Lady, that night. It even licked her cheek before bed, like a good night kiss.

“Was it still wearing the pink ribbon?” I ask.

“I think so. Why?” She asks.

“I’m just trying to get a picture.” I say, imagining the look on Katniss’ and Prim’s faces at the scene. 

“I can see why that day made you happy.” I smile.

“Well, I knew that goat would be a little gold mine.” She says, trying to dismiss my suggestion at softness.

“Yes, of course I was referring to that, not the lasting joy you gave the sister you love so much you took her place in the reaping.” I say drily. 

“The goat has paid for itself. Several times over.” She argues, acting superior. 

“Well, it wouldn’t dare do anything else after you saved its life.” I counter. “I intend to do the same thing.”

“Really? What did you cost me again?” She asks.

“A lot of trouble. Don’t worry. You’ll get it all back.” I say, not sure why I’m saying it. I don’t intend to be anything Katniss doesn’t want me to if we make it out of here.

“You’re not making sense.” She says, feeling my forehead again. The coolness of her hand is a stark contrast to the heat of my skin.

“You’re a little cooler though.” I’m about to disagree when we’re startled by another round of trumpets. They’re like the ones they played when they announced the rule change. What are they changing now?

Katniss jumps up and is at the mouth of the cave in a heartbeat. Claudius Templesmith’s voice booms through the arena again. 

“Dear tributes! I’d like to announce that a feast has been prepared for each and every one of you.” Huh, a feast. Usually they’re a trap from the Gamemakers where they’ll promise food to make the tributes come together. One year, the feast ended up being some rotten fruit and the tributes fought over it like it was a delicious meal. Feasts are nothing but trouble.

Katniss is walking back in, rolling her eyes, when Claudius says: “Now hold on. Some of you may already be declining my invitation. But this is no ordinary feast. Each of you needs something desperately.” Oh no. I know what I desperately need. Something Haymitch won’t be able to provide because it’s too expensive.

“Each of you will find that certain something in a backpack, marked with your district number, at the Cornucopia at dawn. Think hard about refusing to show up. For some of you, this will be your last chance.” He couldn’t be any clearer; if I want something to heal my leg, it’ll be at the feast. And it’ll be the only time it’s going to be in the arena.

“No.” I say firmly. “You’re not risking your life for me.” Katniss walks back over to me, her face set in a frown.

“Who said I was?” She counters. But she’s a terrible liar and I can already see the cogs turning in her head.

“So, you’re not going?” I ask, looking her straight in the eyes.

“Of course I’m not going. Give me some credit.” She says dismissively.

“Do you think I’m running straight into some free-for-all against Cato and Clove and Thresh? Don’t be stupid.” She’s helping me back down again because I was trying to get up to stop her. 

“I’ll let them fight it out, we’ll see who’s in the sky tomorrow night and work out a plan from there.” She’s not meeting my eyes now, fussing with the zipper on the sleeping bag. I don’t believe her for a second.

“You’re such a bad liar, Katniss.” I snap. “I don’t know how you’ve survived this long.” I mimic some of the things she’s told me in the last five minutes.

“I knew that goat would be a little gold mine. You’re a little cooler though. Of course I’m not going.” I shake my head, my temper rising. 

“Never gamble at cards. You’ll lose your last coin.” I lie back down with a huff.

“All right, I am going, and you can’t stop me!” She says, her voice rising as her anger does. 

“I can follow you.” I say quickly. “At least part way. I may not make it to the Cornucopia, but if I’m yelling your name, I bet someone can find me. And then I’ll be dead for sure.” She can’t do this for me, I wouldn’t forgive myself if she died for me.

“You won’t get a hundred yards from here on that leg.” She counters, looking down at what’s left of my thigh.

“Then I’ll drag myself. You go and I’m going, too.” She has to realise that this is the kind of sacrifice I can’t ask her to make for me. 

“What am I supposed to do? Sit here and watch you die?” She says, her voice breaking on the last syllable.

“I won’t die. I promise. If you promise not to go.” I’m making promises I might not be able to keep, but I don’t care. This was never the plan for me. I can’t go home while Katniss doesn’t. I couldn’t bear to live my life knowing she can’t live hers.

“Then you have to do what I say. Drink your water, wake me when I tell you, and eat every bite of the soup no matter how disgusting it is!” She snaps.

“Agreed. Is it ready?” I ask. 

“Wait here.” She leaves the cave and comes back with the pot of soup. I eat every last drop of without so much as a huff, scraping out the pot for good measure. Eating has made me feel even hotter and I ramble to Katniss about how good the food is, despite the nausea I feel from the amount of it that I’ve eaten.

She pushes another pill in my hand and I wash it down readily. She goes away again to wash the pot and spoon. It seems like we’ve reached some sort of deal. I won’t die on her, she won’t die for me. I can try to hold on as long as possible, and who knows, maybe the other tributes will all fight each other at the Cornucopia. The prospect of lying here with blood poisoning is grim and I don’t know what we’re supposed to do after the feast, but that’s a problem for later. For now, I know she’s safe.

She comes back a little while later with the pot. Only it’s full again, and I haven’t even recovered from my dinner. Still, I promised her I would eat.

“I’ve brought you a treat. I found a new patch of berries a little farther downstream.” She fills up a spoon and feeds me the first bite. The mash is sickeningly sweet and a little minty. Have I had these berries before? 

“They’re very sweet.” I say, frowning as I swallow the bite.

“Yes, they’re sugar berries. My mother makes jam from them. Haven’t you ever had them before?” She asks, pushing another spoonful into my mouth. She seems really adamant about me having this, already filling up the spoon again.

“No, but they taste familiar. Sugar berries?” I ask again to be sure. I’ve never heard of those.

“Well, you can’t get them in the market much, they only grow wild.” She says. I swallow another spoonful. 

“They’re sweet as syrup.” I say, taking the last bite she offers. The taste is so familiar.... Wait.

“Syrup?” My eyes widen as I finally realise what this is. Sleep syrup, something I only take when I’m too ill to be awake. It knocks you out in minutes. I sit up with a start, ignoring the stars that take over my vision. Katniss pushes her hands over my mouth and nose as I forcefully try to get it out of my system. I try to make myself throw it up, but the more time passes, the heavier my limbs start to get. What an idiot I am! I realised too late what she was doing. Where did she get the syrup? Haymitch? I lie down on the sleeping bag and look at Katniss’ face for as long as I can, fighting the urge to give in to unconsciousness. 

As I drift off into a syrup induced sleep, I know that I’ll never forgive her for this.


	21. Rain

I sleep peacefully and don’t dream. Sleep syrup is so effective that it knocks you out completely, making you rest fitfully as your body tries to recover from whatever illness you have. Strange noises fill the atmosphere around me, like a vague boom and the clacking of something. But they’re far away and I’m under water, floating again. Nothing matters except the daze of rest.

I wake up when it’s dark outside, feeling so much better that I think I’m dreaming at first. How long did I sleep? Has a day passed? I move gingerly, trying to stretch my stiff body. My leg is less sore and there’s no sheen of sweat covering my face. It takes me a second to realise that I have more movement again. I’m thirsty, and I’m surprised to find I'm hungry as well. Confusion hits me at how this is all possible, until I turn and see Katniss curled up beside me. Her head is surrounded by a large pool of blood, the metallic tang filling the small cave. I scoot over to look at her and see a gaping wound on her forehead. I gasp at first, trying to see if it’s still gushing blood. It isn’t bleeding much more now, but she must have lost a lot of blood coming back here from… 

I lean back as memories start flooding in from before my rest. 

She went to the feast. 

Conflicting emotions run through me when I remember her drugging me so I wouldn’t be awake while she was out risking her life. How she tricked me into eating the sleep syrup, how I realised her plan too late. How hurt I felt as I looked her in the eyes, knowing it might have been the last time. I sit back up and I see now that she’s made some kind of cover for the opening of the cave to protect me. Protect us. I set my feelings aside because right now I’m the one who’s going to take care of her for a change. It’s the least I can do to dress her wound. I grab the first aid kit from her pack, still woozy from moving but not nearly as weak, and rummage through it for some supplies.

Careful not to wake her, I clean the wound with some cloth and water and bandage her head so it can press down on the wound. I had enough cuts as a child to know what to do, and I’m relieved that this is something in my field of skills. Some of her blood coats my hands and I start to breathe quicker at the sight of it, but push it down and close my eyes. I’m helping, not hurting. This blood is not spilled because of me.

When I’m calmer and satisfied with how it looks, I get to work on cleaning the floor. I take some more cloths and wipe away the blood as best as I can. The metallic smell of it fills the entire cave, making me feel a little nauseous. As I wipe, I feel some soreness in my upper arm. The mystery of that pain is solved when I spot a syringe next to Katniss’ hand. Whatever was in it, it’s potent stuff. That must have been the medicine she gave me, the medicine she got for me when I told her I didn’t want her to. The medicine she risked her life for. I look down at the syringe and then at Katniss’ face. The hurt I felt when I realised that she’d drugged me ebbs away as I look at her peaceful expression. She’s saved me again. 

I go through the pack and find any and all food there is. The feeling of hunger is unfamiliar to me at first but the need to eat takes over quickly. There is the groosling that Katniss tried to offer me a few times. For the first time, it looks appealing. I eat three pieces of it before stopping and thinking that might be unwise. Food isn’t plenty around here and I feel guilty for claiming it as my own while Katniss doesn’t have a say. I force myself to set the food aside and drink water instead. My mouth and throat are so dry it takes an entire bottle for me to feel like I’ve had enough. I’d forgotten what it was like to feel like this. I must have been sicker than I thought. 

A few hours pass, and a soft pattering of rain starts hitting the roof of the cave. As the hours progress, the pattering turns into hammering and soon there’s a storm raging above us. The anthem plays but it’s broken up by the sounds of the weather. I scoot over to see through the cracks in the rock formation. Clove is gone; I can see her warped face through the downpour. I sit back and look at Katniss, wondering if she killed her. It doesn’t matter, though. With Clove gone, Katniss and I are the only pair left.

The rain drums on relentlessly. I stay awake to guard our little cave, watching Katniss sleep on. Her ordeal at the feast must have been exhausting. If it involved Clove, then Cato must have been close by, too. It’s a miracle Katniss made it out of there. Rain starts dripping through the cracks in the ceiling of the cave, so I find the square of plastic and wedge it between the rocks to form a makeshift canopy. It leaves the spot where we’re sitting dry, so I’m pleased. Katniss is shivering in her wet clothes. I take off her boots and socks and slip the sleeping bag over us. The shivering becomes less violent. She looks at peace again.

By the early hours, I notice the change in my leg. I feel the skin carefully and find that most of the swelling has gone down. Moving it doesn’t bring agony anymore, and I can guess that the red streaks trailing up my thigh are disappearing as well. The Capitol certainly doesn’t miss when it comes to their medicine. Relief makes me catch my breath at the thought that I’m better, that I have a chance again to make a difference. I’m no longer weak now. I’m back in the Games.

Dawn is about to break when I think it’s time to wake Katniss up. I don’t know how long I was out for, but I don’t think she’s supposed to sleep so long with a wound like that. I gently touch her shoulder.

“Katniss. Katniss, can you hear me?” She looks up at the roof of the cave as if she doesn’t know where she is. I bend over her slowly until her eyes finally focus on mine.

“Peeta.” She says breathlessly.

“Hey. Good to see your eyes again.” I say gently.

“How long have I been out?” She asks, still looking in my eyes. 

“Not sure. I woke up yesterday evening and you were lying next to me in a very scary pool of blood.” I say, shaking the memory away. “I think it’s stopped finally, but I wouldn’t sit up or anything.” She lifts her hand to her forehead and feels the bandage there. She drops it back down, looking like she might pass out. I quickly put a water bottle to her lips and she drinks half of it in seconds.

“You’re better.” She says as she’s looking up at me.

“Much better. Whatever you shot into my arm did the trick. By this morning, almost all the swelling in my leg was gone.” I say. I’m not angry at her for tricking me now, not when she’s got her own wounds to recover from. She needs rest and time to heal.

“Did you eat?” She asks.

I tell her about the pieces of groosling I gobbled down before stopping myself.

“Don’t worry,” I say. “I’m back on a strict diet.”

“No, it’s good. You need to eat. I’ll go hunting soon.” She says, but the determination of her statement doesn’t match the feebleness in her voice.

“Not too soon, all right? You just let me take care of you for a while.”

I finally feel useful now, even though I regret that Katniss got hurt. I feed her some groosling and raisins and have her drink another bottle of water. As she eats slowly, I take her feet and rub them until they don’t feel like clumps of ice anymore. I take my jacket and wrap it around them before I tuck them back in the sleeping bag.

“Your boots and socks are still damp and the weather’s not helping much.” I say. A clap of thunder and some lightning validate my words. The rain does not seem to be stopping anytime soon.

“I wonder what brought on this storm? I mean, who’s the target?” I wonder out loud.

“Cato and Thresh.” She says without missing a beat. “Foxface will be in her den somewhere, and Clove… she cut me and then…”

“I know Clove’s dead. I saw it in the sky last night.” I say. I wait a second before asking: “Did you kill her?”

“No.” She says quietly. “Thresh broke her skull with a rock.”

“Lucky he didn’t catch you, too.” I say, wincing at the thought.

“He did. But he let me go.” She says, and I can hardly believe it to be true.

“I teamed up with Rue after the tracker jacker attack. We blew up a pile of supplies the Careers had by the lake and it ruined the hearing in my left ear. Then Marvel found her before I could reach her and she died in my arms.” Katniss recounts, looking far away as she tells me what happened while we were separated. Her experience in the Games sounds harrowing, but a sense of victory comes over me at the idea that Katniss ruined the supply pile. 

“Thresh let me go because I told him I gave Rue a proper send off before the hovercraft came. He said he’d let me go this once to repay the debt.” I blink a few times, struggling to understand.

“He let you go because he didn’t want to owe you anything?” I ask to be sure. In the Games, people don’t do this. 

“Yes. I don’t expect you to understand it. You’ve always had enough. But if you’d lived in the Seam, I wouldn’t have to explain.” I bristle at her dismissive tone. If only she knew.

“And don’t try. Obviously I’m too dim to get it.” I say defensively.

“It’s like the bread. How I never seem to get over owing you for that.” She says. This is the second time she’s brought up that instance all those years ago. I never truly realised what kind of impact it must have had on her.

“The bread? What? From when we were kids? I think we can let that go.” I argue. “I mean, you just brought me back from the dead.” If she ever felt like she owed me something, she can rest assured that her debt has been repaid ten times over.

“But you didn’t know me. We had never even spoken. Besides, it’s the first gift that’s always the hardest to pay back. I wouldn’t even have been here to do it if you hadn’t helped me then.” She says. The beating I took for burning the bread is nothing compared to the realisation that I may have saved her life. 

“Why did you, anyway?” She asks. I want to sigh.

“Why? You know why.” She shakes her head and winces, touching her hand to the bandage. 

“Haymitch said you would take a lot of convincing.” It came up during the interview prep, how Katniss wouldn’t just accept that I truly love her. Maybe she’s starting to see it now. 

“Haymitch? What’s he got to do with it?” She asks. I don’t want to get into it; I’m not ready to have that kind of conversation. And I don’t want to have it here anyway. Not when the Capitol already knows so much about me.

“Nothing.” I say. 

“So, Cato and Thresh, huh?” I say, changing the subject. “I guess it’s too much to hope that they’ll simultaneously destroy each other?” I wonder out loud. It’s weird how casual I’ve become about the idea of tributes killing each other. Tributes I’ve talked with. Doesn’t matter that I never liked Cato. Maybe the Games have already changed me with no turning back.

“I think we would like Thresh. I think he’d be our friend back in District 12.” She says softly. 

“Then let’s hope Cato kills him so we don’t have to.” I say grimly, the memory of meeting Cato’s sword vivid in my head. In truth, if Katniss likes Thresh, then I’ll probably like him, too. I’d rather not have it be us who come face to face with him.

Katniss’ eyes start tearing up and I sit up, touching her arm.

“What is it? Are you in a lot of pain?” I ask, eyeing her bandage.

“I want to go home, Peeta.” She says in a desolate voice. It’s the first time I’ve seen her break like this, and my heart starts to break with her.

“You will. I promise.” I say, leaning towards her to kiss her softly. I want to wrap her in my arms but I’m scared it’ll aggravate the wound.

“I want to go home now.” She says.

“Tell you what. You go back to sleep and dream of home. And you’ll be there for real before you know it. Okay?” I say gently.

“Okay. Wake me if you need me to keep watch.” She says, lying down beside me. 

“I’m good and rested, thanks to you and Haymitch. Besides, who knows how long this will last?” I say, thinking about the downpour. There’s no way anyone is coming for us, you’d be soaked in seconds.

I let her sleep for a few hours, the rain my constant companion as I sit guard. It seems like the Gamemakers are cranking it up in intervals, because by late afternoon, water starts dripping in earnest through the cracks in the ceiling of the cave. The square of plastic isn’t holding up well anymore so I adjust it so it covers Katniss as much as possible. The broth pot acts as a bucket for the worst leak. I have to tip it over through the opening of the cave every half hour. If this goes on much longer, we’ll be spilling out of the cave on a stream.

Evening comes, and I’m starting to get hungry. I drink loads of water but the grumbling in my stomach is unmistakable. I don’t want to eat without Katniss again, so I gently wake her up. She seems to be doing a little better, even managing to sit up next to me against the cave wall. 

She takes out all of the food we have left. It’s a meager pick of two pieces of groosling, a small selection of roots, and some dried fruit.

“Should we try and ration it?” I suggest.

“No, let’s just finish it. The groosling is getting old anyway, and the last thing we need is to get sick off spoiled food.” We divide the food in two equal portions and begin. I tell myself to go slow, savour each bite, chew enough times. But I’m so hungry that I end up finishing all of it in minutes, and Katniss has done the same. My stomach is still rumbling painfully, as if I haven’t eaten at all. 

“Tomorrow’s a hunting day.” Katniss says with determination.

“I won’t be much help with that.” I reply. “I’ve never hunted before.” Unless they install a bakery in the arena, I’m not good for much.

“I’ll kill and you cook. And you can always gather.” She says.

“I wish there was some sort of bread bush out there.” I say jokingly.

“The bread they sent me from District 11 was still warm.” She sighs. That must have been glorious. My stomach rumbles again and she hands me some mint leaves to chew on. We sit there in the cave, chewing on leaves and shivering in the damp cold.

The anthem plays softly over the relentless rain, but no one died today. Maybe Cato can’t hunt in these conditions and neither can Thresh.

“Where did Thresh go? I mean, what’s on the far side of the circle?” Katniss asks me. I think back to what I saw of that place when I was with the Careers.

“A field.” I reply. “As far as you can see. It’s full of grasses as high as my shoulders. I don’t know, maybe some of them are grain. There are patches of different colours. But there are no paths.” I think back to that field, the eerie feeling it gave me.

“I bet some of them are grain. I bet Thresh knows which ones, too. Did you go in there?” She asks. I shake my head, explaining how none of us wanted to go in there, how it felt dangerous to even try.

“There could be anything in there.” I say.

“Maybe there is a bread bush in that field.” Katniss jokes. “Maybe that’s why Thresh looks better fed now than when we started the Games.” That is interesting. He must know his way around if he’s so well off in there.

“Either that or he’s got very generous sponsors. I wonder what we’d have to do to get Haymitch to send us some bread.” Now that Haymitch has started bringing me gifts as well, it’s curious to think how his logic works. He gave us the broth and the sleep syrup. But we could use some food now.

“Well, he probably used up a lot of resources helping me knock you out.” She says mischievously. 

“Yeah, about that.” I say, taking one of her hands in mine. “Don’t try something like that again.” I squeeze her hand a little.

“Or what?” She asks coily. 

“Or… or…” My mind is racing. “Just give me a minute.” I say, thinking about how hopeless I felt the moment I realised that she was drugging me. How the thought of losing her would kill me, too.

“What’s the problem?” She asks with a grin. She’s joking around, but I’m not.

“The problem is we’re both still alive. Which only reinforces the idea in your mind that you did the right thing.” I say. We won’t be lucky like this the next time, I just feel it.

“I did do the right thing.” She says. My grip on her hand tightens as I say: “No! Just don’t, Katniss! Don’t die for me. You won’t be doing me any favours. All right?” I look her in the eyes and plead with her silently. She looks down.

“Maybe I did it for myself, Peeta. Did you ever think of that? Maybe you aren’t the only one who… who worries about… what it would be like if…” She mumbles, trailing off. My heart picks up when her cheeks turn the slightest bit red.

“If what, Katniss?” I say gently. Maybe we are having this conversation after all. 

“That’s exactly the kind of topic Haymitch told me to steer clear from.” She says suddenly, not meeting my eyes. But she’s smiling, and it makes me bold.

“Then I’ll just have to fill in the blanks myself.” I say, leaning over to her and kissing her softly. She reciprocates, and the soft push of her lips against mine makes me lightheaded. The hammering in my chest only goes on when she takes my hand and holds it firmly, as if she wants to make sure I’ll still be there when she opens her eyes again. I kiss the tip of her nose for good measure, because I can. Whatever small doubt was at the back of my mind, it’s gone now. 

“I think your wound is bleeding again. Come on, lie down, it’s bedtime anyway.” I say, patting the ground beside me. She puts her socks back on and I get my jacket back. Luckily I had the sleeping bag to catch most of the cold, but it’s the draft that makes me thankful I have an extra layer again. Katniss offers to take the first watch, but I argue that no one is coming to find us now. Not even Cato. I insist that she sleeps in the sleeping bag with me because she’s shivering and the tip of her nose is red. She finally agrees, slipping in beside me. I put one arm under her and one over, cradling her against me. We’re warmer already and the feeling of holding her makes me warm in an entirely different way. 

She puts on some night vision glasses from her pack and lies still beside me when I drift off to the most peaceful sleep I’ve had in weeks.

I don’t know how long I’ve been sleeping, but she wakes me up again.

“Peeta, I’m sorry. I can’t keep my eyes open any longer.” She says.

“No problem, Katniss. Go sleep, I’ll look out for us.” I kiss the top of her head as she settles in.

“Tomorrow, when it’s dry, I’ll find us a place so high in the trees we can both sleep in peace.” She promises, yawning in between the words. I don't tell her that I'm wary of heights.


	22. The Valley Song

The night is uneventful and I spend most of my time curled up close to Katniss, keeping one eye on the opening of the cave. I keep hoping the rain will stop, but no luck. When Katniss wakes up, thunder cracks so violently that for a second I think the cave might collapse. 

“Couldn’t we try to scavenge close to the cave?” I say. The pain of my empty stomach is driving me mad. 

“No chance. We’ll just be soaked to the bone and we can’t see anything anyway.” I nod, because of course she’s right. I just really wish we had some food. 

I try to distract myself throughout the day by daydreaming about all of the foods we have at home. All of the different types of bread, all of the cakes. We make one with apples baked into it and a layer of orange juice poured over the top. I’ve never had more than crumbs of it, but the thought alone is making my mouth water. 

We’re still in the sleeping bag together, because the cave is cold and the thought of getting out of this cocoon makes me shiver. The raining lulls me in and out of sleep, broken up only by thunder or lightning. How I wish Haymitch would send us something now. I keep wondering how his logic works. Why he brought us the broth and the syrup but nothing since. I know that resources become more expensive as the Games go on, so a piece of bread might cost fifty times more now than it did on the first day. Is that why he’s been absent? 

Evening comes and Katniss stirs. She’s woken up from the fiftieth nap of the day. I admit that I’ve slept more than kept guard; but it’s difficult staying awake when I’m finally feeling a little warm and the rain patters on overhead. We lie there in silence and I caress Katniss’ hair slowly, avoiding the bandage. I haven’t replaced it since I found her bleeding and wonder if it’s time to refresh it. Her braid has come undone and her long hair spills out, tickling my neck where it manages to reach.

“Peeta.” She speaks up, breaking the silence that filled our cave. “You said at the interview you’d had a crush on me forever. When did forever start?” She says it lightly, like she’s just curious about it all. Her sudden question catches me off guard but I don’t mind it. I swallow and recount what happened all those years ago.

“Oh, let’s see. I guess the first day of school. We were five.” The memory is clear to me like it was yesterday. I can even tell her which dress she had on and that her hair was in two braids instead of the one she wears now. “My father pointed you out when we were waiting in line.” I say, the fond memory of my father in happier years putting a smile on my face.

“Your father? Why?” She asks. I tell her how my father intended to marry Katniss’ mother, but she married a coal miner instead.

“What? You’re making that up!” She exclaims, her eyes big.

“No, true story.” I continue, telling her about why her mother would never have chosen my dad over the coal miner. “When he sings… even the birds stop to listen.” I finish.

“That’s true. They do. I mean, they did.” She says quietly. She doesn’t say anything for a minute and I take it as my cue to go on. About how in music assembly that same day, Katniss’ hand shot up in the air when the teacher asked us who knew the valley song. How Katniss stood up on a stool and sang it for the entire class. Her braids shone in the morning light and her smile was contagious and full of pride.

“And I swear, every bird outside the windows fell silent.” I say. I remember the goosebumps on my arms, not being able to look away as she sang with a clear voice.

“Oh, please.” She says, laughing at the idea.

“No, it happened. And right when your song ended, I knew - just like your mother - I was a goner.” I say. “Then for the next eleven years, I tried to work up the nerve to talk to you.” Let them know, let everyone of Panem know that five-year-old me fell head over heels in love with Katniss. I don’t care that they know. Telling her the story makes something click inside me, like a key that turns in the right lock. I was meant to tell her this now.

“Without success.” She says.

“Without success. So, in a way, my name being drawn in the reaping was a real piece of luck.” I’m glad she’s not looking at my face right now. It’s true. Without this happening to us, I may have never told her how I feel. 

“You have a… remarkable memory.” She says quietly.

“I remember everything about you. You’re the one who wasn’t paying attention.” I tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear, giddy with relief and love. 

“I am now.” She says.

“Well, I don’t have much competition here.” I say, thinking about the other tributes out there. Thinking of Gale back home too, despite myself. I’m not a jealous person.

“You don’t have much competition anywhere.” Then she leans into me and my heart is soaring higher than ever at her words, at her telling me she feels the same way. We’ve barely touched our lips together when a loud clunk sounds from outside the cave, making both of us jump. Katniss is up with her bow in a split second, but nothing moves. I look through the rocks and see a parachute hanging in the rock formation. I give a whoop and stand up, my leg cooperating with me again. The rain pours down over me and into my clothes but I don’t care. I remove the parachute from the rocks and bring the entire thing into the cave. Inside there’s so much food I could cry. There is bread and fruits and the stew I had at the Capitol.

I sit down, beaming at this feast before us. Finally!

“I guess Haymitch finally got tired of watching us starve.” I say.

“I guess so.” Katniss replies. She starts setting out all of the food and my mouth waters. 

“We better take it slow on that stew. Remember the first night on the train? The rich food made me sick and I wasn’t even starving then.” I recall, remembering Katniss’ green face matching my own.

“You’re right.” She replies. We divide the food again like we did yesterday and take a small portion of that half. We each have a roll, half an apple, and a small serving of the stew and rice. We eat off of plates and use silver forks; they came with the food. It’s funny, a fancy meal served on porcelain plates as we eat in a rain soaked cave, shivering and wounded. We finish the food faster than either of us would like, and Katniss stares longingly at the rest. 

“I want more.”

“Me, too. Tell you what. We wait an hour, if it stays down, then we get another serving.” I suggest. I’m still hungry but I’d rather wait than lose this precious food by overeating and becoming sick.

“Agreed. It’s going to be a long hour.” She sighs.

“Maybe not that long.” I say cheekily. “What was that you were saying just before the food arrived? Something about me… no competition… best thing that ever happened to you…”

“I don’t remember that last part.” She says, but I can see the blush on her cheeks.

“Oh, that’s right. That’s what I was thinking.” I say. This easy banter between us almost makes up for the fact that I’m shivering again.

“Scoot over, I’m freezing.” I say, and slide into the sleeping bag. Katniss rests her head on my shoulder while I hold her in my arms. It’s weird to share body heat in these conditions; outside of necessity, there’s also the constant loop in my head that goes ‘I’m holding Katniss!’. 

“So, since we were five, you never even noticed any other girls?” Katniss says, resuming our conversation from earlier.

“No, I noticed just about every girl, but none of them made a lasting impression but you.” I say earnestly, thinking about the girls I would talk with, who would smile at me in a special way. Some of them became close friends, but never anything more. None of them have ever given me goosebumps.

“I’m sure that would thrill your parents, you liking a girl from the Seam.” She says.

“Hardly. But I couldn’t care less. Anyway, if we make it back, you won’t be a girl from the Seam anymore, you’ll be from the Victor’s Village.” I say. The Victor’s Village is reserved only for people who have won the Games. I would get a house there by default if we win. It hits me then that I would never have to return home anymore; I could work at the bakery but have my own house to enjoy the peace and quiet. Life without my mother’s yells is an exhilarating prospect.

“But then our only neighbour will be Haymitch!” Katniss says, utterly disturbed. 

“Ah, that’ll be nice.” I hug her closer to me. “You and me and Haymitch. Very cozy. Picnics, birthdays, long winter nights around the fire retelling old Hunger Games tales.” 

“I told you he hates me!” She says, but she’s laughing. The idea of coming over for coffee at Haymitch’s house is hilarious.

“Only sometimes. When he’s sober, I’ve never heard him say one negative thing about you.” I say.

“He’s never sober!” Katniss protests. She’s got a point there, despite the fact that he’d held up his end of the bargain before the Games.

“Who am I thinking of? Oh, I know. It’s Cinna who likes you. But that’s mainly because you didn’t try to run when he set you on fire.” I say. “On the other hand, Haymitch… well, if I were you, I’d avoid Haymitch completely. He hates you.”

“I thought you said I was his favourite.” She says. 

“He hates me more.” I counter. Haymitch just doesn’t seem like a people person. But the fact that he’s helping us out now means a lot. 

“How do you think he did it?” Katniss asks suddenly.

“Who? Did what?” I ask, confused.

“Haymitch. How do you think he won the Games?” I think about this for a little while. Haymitch is quite strong, but not like the likes of Cato. He’s not the most charming person I’ve ever met nor very handsome. So his mentor probably didn’t try to play that towards the sponsors. I also don’t see him teaming up with anyone. He seems like the kind of person who prefers to work alone. There’s only one tactic he could have used.

“He outsmarted the others.” I say. Katniss nods in agreement, and we leave the conversation there. I try to imagine Haymitch in the Games, a younger version of him. Would his drinking have started after he won? I never considered how he must have felt, being the sole survivor. At least if Katniss and I make it out, we’ll have each other.

Some time has passed and Katniss suggests eating again. I don’t think it’s been an hour, but I’m too hungry to argue against it. Katniss is preparing our plates when the anthem starts to play. I peer through the gaps in the rocks, finding it difficult to discern anything through the sheet of rain that’s still pouring down on us.

“There won’t be anything to see tonight.” She says, and I hear the clank of a plate being put down, the sound of silverware. “Nothing’s happened or we would’ve heard a cannon.”

My heart is heavy when I finally see who is projected into the night sky. The number 11 flashes under his picture, but I recognise his face. The boy who let Katniss go to repay a debt.

“Katniss.” I say quietly. 

“What? Should we split another roll, too?” She asks, completely oblivious to this news.

“Katniss.” I repeat, but she’s too focussed on the meal to look at me. His picture stays in the sky, cementing the image into my brain. I hope he wasn’t in too much pain.

“I’m going to split one. But I’ll save the cheese for tomorrow.” I keep staring at her, willing her to look me in the eyes. 

“What?” She finally asks.

“Thresh is dead.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave me some feedback if you want! c:


	23. Boots

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made an editing error in the previous chapter that I've changed now. It used to say that Thresh's picture in the sky disappeared as Peeta watched it, but as I was checking this chapter I realised that Katniss still sees him in the sky when she wants to make sure that Peeta saw it right. Just wanted to let you know!

“He can’t be.” Katniss says quickly, as if saying denying his death changes things. Her eyes are downcast but I can hear from her voice that she might cry. The roll in her hand drops to the floor.

“They must have fired the cannon during the thunder and we missed it.” I say gently, reasoning with her.

“Are you sure? I mean, it’s pouring buckets out there. I don’t know how you can see anything.” She pushes past me and stares at the sky, peering through the rain. Her face falls as she realises that I wasn’t wrong about what I saw. His picture disappears from the sky after a few more seconds. Thresh is gone.

Katniss slumps against the wall of the cave and her face is even paler than it was five minutes ago. I put my hand on her shoulder.

“You all right?” But of course I know the answer. She shrugs and cups her elbows around her knees, rocking slightly. Whatever Katniss felt about Thresh is bubbling to the surface now, making her forget the food entirely. Her voice is soft when she speaks up.

“It’s just… if we didn’t win… I wanted Thresh to win. Because he let me go. And because of Rue.” I nod. I think I would have liked him to win, too. If only because Katniss speaks so highly of him.

“Yeah, I know. But this means we’re one step closer to District 12.” I say, trying to sway her mind. I push the food she so carefully plated into her hands and hope she doesn’t swat it away. “Eat. It’s still warm.”

She takes a bite with determination and I start on my own meal, eyeing her from time to time. Katniss pokes around her plate but she eats, which is the most important thing. The food tastes divine, almost exactly like how it tasted in the Capitol. I cherish the stew and roll and wish I had a cup of hot chocolate to dip it in. After some time, Katniss seems to enjoy it as much as I am. Good. We need all of the strength we can get. Grief will have to wait until after the arena, I realise. Thresh’s death has changed the odds again.

“It also means Cato will be back hunting us.” Katniss speaks up after swallowing a last big bite of rice. Her cheeks are flushed from eating and her eyes are determined again, calculating moves. She pushes a strand of hair behind her ear.

“And he’s got supplies again.” I add, thinking back to the feast. I wonder what kind of thing someone like Cato needs the most. Is it food? I don’t know how skilled he would be at scavenging, since he didn’t need to worry about it in the first days. Much like me. Or maybe he needed a weapon. I shudder at the thought of another lethal object in his ruthless hands.

“He’ll be wounded, I bet.” Katniss says matter-of-factly.

“What makes you say that?” I ask.

“Because Thresh would have never gone down without a fight. He’s so strong, I mean, he was. And they were in his territory.” She reasons. If they had it out in the tall grasses, then surely Thresh would have ambushed Cato. So how did he lose the fight?

“Good.” I say grimly. “The more wounded Cato is the better. I wonder how Foxface is making out.” They’re our only enemies now. Four of us left in the entire arena.

“Oh, she’s fine. Probably be easier to catch Cato than her.” Katniss says in a frustrated tone. 

“Maybe they’ll catch each other and we can just go home.” I say. “But we better be extra careful about the watches. I dozed off a few times.”

“Me, too. But not tonight.” She says. We finish our meals in silence.

“Let me take the first watch.” I offer once we’ve settled down for the day, and Katniss takes it readily. She practically buries herself in the sleeping bag. I hug her tightly as she pulls the hood of her jacket over her eyes. I think I feel a small sob go through her and I shift, hugging her closer to me. No need for anyone to see her with her emotions. She deserves those be her own. Her breathing evens out after a few minutes and I’m glad she managed to fall asleep. I hope she dreams of something good.

My stomach starts to rumble again not long after the meal. Katniss is sound asleep and looking at peace again. I wiggle out of the sleeping bag just enough to grab the food. I find a roll, which I split in half so I can make one for Katniss and one for myself. I find some goat’s cheese and apple slices and spread the cheese over the roll. The apple slices on top finish off this small meal. I start on my half because I’m not sure if I should wake Katniss up for this. She needs as much rest as possible. The tartness of the cheese goes nicely with the crispness of the apple. I savour every morsel of it, sighing when it’s gone. 

A few more hours pass and I’m starting to become tired of sitting idle and hearing the weather outside. The arena is quiet except for the constant rainfall. I catch my eyes drooping a few times before I realise I’m a lousy guard at this point. I gently wake Katniss and hand her the roll immediately.

“Don’t be mad. I had to eat again. Here’s your half.” I say guiltily, hoping she won’t mind.

“Oh, good.” She takes the roll from my hand and takes a huge bite. Some colour has returned to her cheeks. 

“We make a goat cheese and apple tart at the bakery.” I say. I can practically hear my mother complaining about the cheese prices every week. But they’re fun to make, and rewarding to put on display. They sell well, especially to the Mayor.

“Bet that’s expensive.” She says as she chews.

“Too expensive for my family to eat. Unless it’s gone very stale. Of course, practically everything we eat is stale.” I say, pulling the sleeping bag up higher around me. Having fresh food like this would be unthinkable at home. One time, for my birthday, my father had made me a small cake all for myself. I was so excited I cried. It was my first year of being in the reaping and I think he wanted to make it less miserable. It was an exquisitely made cake, with sugar flowers and fresh fruits. He even wrote my name on it in sugar paste. Just as I took the first bite of it, my mother came in and saw. Apparently my father hadn’t told her about this present he made for me. She started yelling at me and then at my father and I cried a second time that day. I never had that cake again.

Katniss wakes me up when the sun is in the sky. I can tell because it’s shining in my eyes. The appearance of the sun makes me look outside and find that the rain is gone. It must have stopped while I slept. I take a minute to gather my bearings and my eyes finally focus on Katniss. Without thinking, I pull her down and kiss her good morning. 

“We’re wasting hunting time.” She says when she breaks away. 

“I wouldn’t call it wasting.” I say, stretching as I sit up. I feel something pop in my back and it makes me think about how little I’ve moved in the past week. “So do we hunt on empty stomachs to give us an edge?” 

“Not us. We stuff ourselves to give us staying power.” She says, already putting out the food.

“Count me in.” I say. I’m surprised to see that she’s dividing all of our food. “All this?” 

“We’ll earn it back today.” She says confidently. I trust her hunting abilities and my empty stomach doesn’t argue with the prospect of eating this fine food. We scarf down the meal and Katniss even drops her utensils and uses her finger so scrape down every last drop of the stew. 

“I can feel Effie Trinket shuddering at my manners.” She says, laughing as she licks her lips.

“Hey Effie, watch this!” I say, throwing my fork over my shoulder and licking my plate clean. Katniss laughs as I finish eating, making loud noises. I set my plate down and blow a kiss into the air. I’m sure there are enough cameras to capture this.

“We miss you Effie!” I say, raising my voice. In truth, I haven’t thought about her in days. Katniss clasps her hand over my mouth to silence me.

“Stop! Cato could be right outside our cave.” But she’s still laughing. I take her hand and free my mouth.

“What do I care? I’ve got you to protect me now.” I pull Katniss toward me and kiss her again. She’s trying to get away but I steal one more kiss. Who knows what it’ll be like when we leave this cave?

“Come on.” She says. I let her go because she’s sounding annoyed with me now. I shake it off and remind myself that we have a plan today; kissing is not a priority. Sadly.

We pack up our things and leave our cave. My legs are stiff, as well as most of my other joints. I take time to stretch to get some movement back, but the truth is that it’ll take me more than that to become as mobile as I was before. I’m just grateful I can stand on my legs again. 

Our playful mood from earlier vanishes as we stand outside our small shelter. Going into the arena again feels like a bad move after the relative safety this cave brought us, but I know we have to leave. Sitting it out is not a very viable tactic. If anything, we need food to survive. Haymitch won’t be so generous every day.

The arena is warm and sunny. The difference between today and the past few days is astounding. With the rain and the draft gone, it feels like we’re in the middle of summer. Sunlight washes over me and I feel warm and light. Katniss hands me her knife and I tuck it in my belt like I did with the other one. The weight of it feels strangely familiar on me. We leave the cave and I look back at it once more. If Cato or Foxface would come past it, I don’t think they would know we were ever in there. Still, his looming presence sets me on edge.

“He’ll be hunting us by now. Cato isn’t one to wait for his prey to wander by.” I say as we start on our journey. My leg drags a little bit; I think I need to rebuild some serious muscle. But I’m not in pain anymore, which is most important.

“If he’s wounded-” Katniss starts to say.

“It won’t matter. If he can move, he’s coming.” His bloodlust won’t be stopped by anything unless he physically can’t walk anymore.

We stop by the stream first. The rainfall has made the stream overflow, making it run outside its banks. Good thing it didn’t happen while I was in the mud or I’d have drowned. We stop to refill our water bottles. Katniss is looking around as if she’s expecting Cato to jump out of nowhere at any moment. We walk a little way to check on some snares Katniss had set, but they’re empty. Maybe the animals were sheltering, too.

“If we want food, we better head back up to my old hunting grounds.” She says.

“Your call. Just tell me what you need me to do.” I say. 

“Keep an eye out. Stay on the rocks as much as possible, no sense in leaving him tracks to follow. And listen for both of us.” Her hearing hasn’t returned, it seems.

We walk next to the stream past the place where Katniss found me. The rain has wiped all of it away, which is good. Less evidence to trace us by. The boulders start shrinking in size as we head into the woods again. The pine needles are a welcome change under my feet and the exertion of walking is proving hard on my leg. After all of the sleeping and generally not moving around much, I’m finding it hard to keep up. Katniss whips around.

“What?” I ask.

“You’ve got to move more quietly. Forget about Cato, you’re chasing off every rabbit in a ten-mile radius.” I look down at my feet. Am I really that loud? 

“Really? Sorry, I didn’t know.” I say, trying to lighten my steps. We stop again after a few feet.

“Can you take your boots off?” She asks. I must still be loud if she suggests that.

“Here?” I ask, looking around at the prickly pine needles on the ground. 

“Yes. I will, too. That way we’ll both be quieter.” She’s amusing me by taking off her own boots, but I appreciate her tact. We take off our boots and socks and continue barefoot. The needles aren’t as bad as I thought they would be and they’re nice and cool. Even ticklish at times.

We walk for hours but Katniss doesn’t shoot anything. Her hands are skillfully holding the bow, ready to strike. I know she’s a good hunter, so it’s clear who’s messing up here. I’m not too proud to admit that I’m a nuisance.

“Katniss, we need to split up. I know I’m chasing away the game.” She stops walking and turns around.

“Only because your leg’s hurt.” She says generously. She’s humouring me, but I take the bait.

“I know. So why don’t you go on? Show me some plants to gather and that way we’ll both be useful.” I offer. 

“Not if Cato comes and kills you.” She says, and it makes me laugh.

“Look, I can handle Cato. I fought him before, didn’t I?” She looks sceptical. Fair enough, my last fight with Cato wasn’t exactly a success on my end, but I want to do something useful while she hunts.

“What if you climbed up in a tree and acted as a lookout while I hunted?” She suggests lightly, pretending like that’s somehow very important.

“What if you show me what’s edible around here and go get us some meat?” I mimic her tone. “Just don’t go far, in case you need help.” Katniss sighs but she leads the way to where there are some roots I can dig up. After identifying the plant they’re attached to, it shouldn’t be too difficult to find more. She teaches me a bird whistle that we can use to communicate while we’re apart. I try it out and find it quite easy to do. We whistle at each other and I smile.

She stalks off and I don’t hear her footfalls. She disappears out of sight and I briefly panic at her absence before telling myself that we’ll be all right. We have the whistle. I focus on digging up the roots and find the square piece of plastic in the pack Katniss left me. I lay the roots out on it so they’ll be easy to gather up later. We whistle to each other periodically which assures me that she’s okay. I hope her hunt is going well. I find more and more roots and am pleased that I’m contributing something meaningful to our meal.

I spot a patch of berries by the stream while I gather up roots a little further away from my starting place. They look ripe and juicy, so I put the roots on the plastic and walk back to the berries. I gather as many as I can in my hands and put them in a neat pile on the plastic. But there were still plenty left on the patch and I can’t let them go to waste when I’m so close. Maybe Katniss can show me how to make that berry mush she cooked for me a couple of days ago. I’m still picking berries when I hear leaves rustling to my left.

“Peeta!” I hear Katniss shriek suddenly. I turn back as quickly as my leg allows as she calls my name again. Panic seizes me as visions of Cato holding Katniss spill into my mind. How has he found her? I hope I’m on time. 

I hurry back to the pack as fast as I can and almost meet the business end of her arrow when I emerge from the bushes, panting and scared. My eyes widen and a breath hitches in my throat at the threat. She pulls it away at the last second and it lands in the trunk of a nearby tree.


	24. Berries

The suddenness of it makes me jump and I drop the berries I plucked. They fall on the forest floor without a sound as I look up at Katniss.

“What are you doing? You’re supposed to be here, not running around in the woods!” She yells, tears spilling down her cheeks.

“I found some berries down by the stream.” I say, confusion apparent in my tone. It wasn’t that far away from the pack.

“I whistled. Why didn’t you whistle back?” She snaps, her voice breaking.

“I didn’t hear. The water’s too loud, I guess.” I walk over to her and put my hands on her shoulders to steady her. She’s shaking like a leaf. 

“I thought Cato killed you!” She almost shouts. I feel guilty for scaring her like this, when I knew I should have whistled. Picking the berries had made me forget about it completely. Foolish.

“No, I’m fine.” I wrap my arms around her and try to calm her down, to show her I’m alive and well. She doesn’t hug me back.

“Katniss?” I ask gently. She tenses.

She pushes me away, her bow falling on the ground with a dull thud. “If two people agree on a signal, they stay in range. Because if one of them doesn’t answer, they’re in trouble, all right?” She says, her voice rising.

“All right!” I reply, holding up my hands. I genuinely didn’t mean to scare her, but it’s too late for apologies now. Katniss looks away and wipes her face before turning back to me.

“All right. Because that’s what happened with Rue, and I watched her die!” She says, turning away again to grab a water bottle from the pack. My hands fall by my sides. Guilt ripples through me as the weight of her words sinks in. Why couldn’t I just remember to whistle? I realise now that she isn’t just scared; she’s reminded of just how badly things can go wrong in a matter of minutes. I’m about to tell her I’m sorry, trying to find the words to express that it was never my intention to make her upset. But she’s not looking at me, rummaging through the pack instead.

She huffs as she stands up and turns back to me, pointing to the pack with her index finger.

“And you ate without me.” She says, shaking her head. Anger and fear seem to mix as she scowls at me.

“What? No, I didn’t.” I say defensively.

“Oh, and I suppose the apples ate the cheese.” She scoffs. I look at the food and see some cheese is indeed missing. But I know with absolute certainty that I wasn’t the one who took it.

“I don’t know what ate the cheese, but it wasn’t me.” I say slowly, trying to contain my temper. Being accused of theft like this makes me bristle. Maybe some animal got to it while I was gone. I’m sorry I upset her, but I don’t like being accused of whatever just because she’s angry. Every time I’ve eaten without her, I made sure to tell her about it immediately. I take a deep breath and steady myself. No use getting angry.

“I’ve been down by the stream collecting berries. Would you care for some?” I point down to the plastic, swiftly changing the subject. Maybe my find will distract her. Katniss doesn’t say anything but she does scoop some up to look at them. 

A cannon goes off.

Katniss whips around to look at me and I raise my eyebrows in a silent question. It takes me a second to realise what’s happening. A noise comes up behind and I turn around as a hovercraft is lifting Foxface’s small body into the air. I stare at the scene in disbelief, seeing how what’s left of her is carried out of the arena. Her vibrant red hair looks radiant in the sunlight, dangling over the edge of the hovercraft. She was so close to us! But then I panic, because there’s only one explanation for her sudden death. Cato. He’s found us. I’m at Katniss’s side in a second, pulling on her arm to get her out of here. Whatever happens, we can’t just let Cato find us like this. We have to gain some advantage.

“Climb. He’ll be here in a second. We’ll stand a better change fighting him from above.” I say quickly, the urgency in my voice betraying the fear that courses through me. Katniss still isn’t moving. Why won’t she run? I know it’s two against one but Cato might have any type of weapon. My mind is racing as I imagine what might unfurl if we don’t move, but then Katniss puts her hand on my shoulder, steadying me. She looks me in the eyes and I see they are sad, but not scared.

“No, Peeta, she’s your kill, not Cato’s.” She says gently. I’ve never been more confused. How is that even possible? I barely knew she was around. I think I’d know if I killed her.

“What? I haven’t seen her since the first day.” I say. “How could I have killed her?” Katniss is silent, but shows me a handful of the berries I just plucked.

We stand in the clearing for some time while Katniss explains how exactly it was me who killed the girl from 5. How she was the one responsible for the missing cheese.

“Foxface took food out of the supplies pile before I blew it up. She was smart about it. She never took enough that it would be noticeable. Of course she wouldn’t question the berries because you were collecting them for ourselves.” She says, still holding them in her hands. I stare at them in shock, my stomach dropping at what I did. Foxface sure was smart about how she got her food, sneaking around and stealing small bits here and there. Until it killed her. Until I killed her.

“I wonder how she found us. My fault, I guess, if I’m as loud as you say.” The thought of her trailing us gives me goosebumps. Always in the shadows. Now she’ll never be anymore.

“And she’s very clever, Peeta.” Katniss says. “Well, she was. Until you outfoxed her.” 

“Not on purpose. Doesn’t seem fair somehow. I mean, we would have both been dead, too, if she hadn’t eaten the berries first.” I look at her hands again and realise why she looked at the berries so intently. She even holds them a little apprehensively.

“No, of course, we wouldn’t. You recognised them, didn’t you?” I say. She nods.

“We call them nightlock.”

“Even the name sounds deadly.” I say, sighing. “I’m sorry, Katniss. I really thought they were the same ones you’d gathered.” If only I’d have paid closer attention when the trainer in the Capitol was explaining this stuff to me. I really didn’t pick up much during my time at the Training Centre.

“Don’t apologise. It just means we’re one step closer to home, right?” She reasons. She does have a point. But still it feels like I cheated somehow. What if I’d tried some of them when I found them? I would have dropped dead on the spot. It feels unfair that Foxface paid the price instead.

“I’ll get rid of the rest.” I say grimly, gathering up the sheet of plastic. I fold the corners in on each other so no berries fall out and go to toss them into the woods. Better they be out of reach.

“Wait!” Katniss yells suddenly, and I almost drop them. She finds a leather pouch in her pack and fills it up with a handful of berries. My brows furrow before she explains.

“If they fooled Foxface, maybe they can fool Cato as well. If he’s chasing us or something, we can act like we accidentally drop the pouch and if he eats them-”

“Then hello District 12.” I chime in.

“That’s it.” She says. She secures the pouch to her belt for easy access.

“He’ll know where we are now. If he was anywhere nearby and saw that hovercraft, he’ll know we killed her and come after us.” I argue, looking around us. Cato may not have killed Foxface, but we’re his only targets now.

“Let’s make a fire. Right now.” Katniss says as she begins finding branches and shrubs to stoke it with. 

“Are you ready to face him?” I ask, a little confused. Sure, she has her bow, and we do outnumber him, but even then I’d like more of an advantage when we face him.

“I’m ready to eat. Better to cook our food while we have the chance. If he knows we’re here, he knows. But he also knows there’s two of us and probably assumes we were hunting Foxface. That means you’re recovered. And the fire means we’re not hiding, we’re inviting him here. Would you show up?” She says, and I think about it for a second.

“Maybe not.” I concede. Still, Cato isn’t to be underestimated. And even if he thinks we’re as well as we can be, the thought of facing him shakes me to my core. 

I start gathering the wood and find that it’s rather damp. Still, I manage to light a fire quickly. All those years of stoking the ovens at home ended up providing me with a secret skill after all. The wood I would find around District 12 wasn’t always in the best state, so I suppose it trained me for what I need to do here. Baking bread and kindling fires, that’s me.

Katniss prepares the rabbits and the squirrel she’s caught in no time. I watch her as she skins and readies the animals and puts them on wooden skewers made from nearby branches. We keep an eye on the fire and take turns adding to it while the food cooks. I take uneasy glances behind mine and Katniss’ shoulders, but as she predicted, Cato is a no show. It feels weird to be so out in the open in the arena, so confident. 

Katniss hands me a rabbit leg and keeps one for herself, packing up the other food when it’s cooked. 

“It’s getting late, Peeta. We should find a good tree and make a camp there for the night.” Katniss says, looking above us to scout trees already.

“I can’t climb like you, Katniss. Especially with my leg, and I don’t think I could ever fall asleep fifty feet above the ground.” I resist. Katniss feels at home in nature, but I’ve been spoiled by the comfort of shelter and beds. And it’s no use if I don’t sleep for the remainder of the time we’ll be in here.

“It’s not safe to stay in the open, Peeta.” She says. She bites her bottom lip, looking around again.

“Can’t we go back to the cave? It’s near water and easy to defend.” I say, trying to argue without sounding like a child. I know the cave is a while away; the walk back will be tedious. But the thought of sleeping high in a tree makes my stomach lurch. And neither of us would be better off if I injure myself. Katniss sighs, considering our options.

After pondering for a moment, she reaches up and kisses me softly. “Sure. Let’s go back to the cave.” My relief is instant.

“Well, that was easy.” I say. I’m happy she’s not making me do this and I even got a kiss as well. After the day we’ve had, her casual intimacy is a reminder that I have her with me no matter what.

She gingerly takes out the arrow she almost shot me with earlier and puts it back in its sheath, explaining that the more she has, the better. Then we put more wood on the fire to produce loads of smoke, though I doubt Cato will think anything of it.

I eat the rabbit leg while we walk back to the stream. The meat is juicy and tastes like home, despite the fact that we mostly have squirrels. The taste is virtually the same, though. Having my socks and boots back on is a welcome change, and it doesn’t matter how loud we are anymore now that Katniss was able to hunt. The fact that Cato hasn’t shown up makes me think he might not be anywhere near us.

The stream has dropped back to normal levels and Katniss suggests walking in it to reduce leaving traces as much as possible. I welcome it, enjoying the cool water in this hot sun. The pace of the stream also allows me to walk quite comfortably, since it doesn’t drag on my bad leg too much. I toss the rabbit bone into the stream and watch as it floats away, leaving any trace behind.

Though the stream is comfortable, I can’t deny that I’m getting tired. The exertion we had today was more than we’ve had in days. We’re both dragging our feet forward and evening is starting to come in. Daylight is rapidly making way for the dusk. When we’re almost where we need to be, we take some time to fill our water bottles before retiring for the night. I’m exhausted by the time we finally reach the cave and I can tell Katniss is, too. The familiar sight of it is strangely comforting. Despite where we are, this cave has been home. And I’ll sleep better on the ground than anywhere else here.

Katniss lays out a hearty dinner and I eat it with enthusiasm. More rabbit and some roots, all cooked up together. All of the walking has taken its toll and I’m still making up for all of the days I spent not eating at all, so it tastes like the most delicious meal ever. Still, halfway through our dinner my eyes start to become heavy and I realise sleep would be better right now. Katniss silently takes the sleeping bag from her pack and spreads it out for me.

“Go lie down. You need sleep.” She says, and I don’t object. My mind is so foggy with fatigue that I can barely think straight. I fall asleep as soon as my head touches the ground and sleep fitfully, dreaming of nothing. 

Katniss wakes me up and it’s clear immediately that she’s let me sleep longer than she usually does. The sky is starting to light up slowly, soft grey light pouring into the cave. The dawn is quiet and peaceful. I must have slept through the anthem last night.

“I slept the whole night. That’s not fair, Katniss. You should have woken me.” I say in alarm. Katniss looks tired and weary, but she’s smiling.

“I’ll sleep now. Wake me if anything interesting happens.” She says, yawning. She slides down into the sleeping bag and sighs as she finds a good sleeping position. I caress her hair as she falls asleep, kissing her forehead when her breathing evens out.

Feeling well rested and alert, I find that I’m hungry again. I eat the rest of the food I didn’t finish before and find myself full afterwards. It’s a nice feeling, especially since it doesn’t make me nauseous anymore and in the cave I can lie back and digest it properly. Nothing happens outside of it anyway. Who knows where Cato is right now.

Dawn turns into morning as I stare out at the opening of the cave, thinking about the death I’ve caused. Before tributes go into the arena, I think one of the bets must be on how many people we’ll each end up killing. In the Games, two kills are under my name. The girl from District 8 and Foxface. I mourned the girl from 8 because she’s a life that’s lost, but I could convince myself into thinking that what I did helped her. She wouldn’t have survived the night with her wounds. It was an act of mercy more so than of bloodlust. Foxface, on the other hand, was an accidental kill. If I hadn’t been ignorant about the berries, she’d still be alive. I’m aware of the fact that a victor shouldn’t think like this, but I can’t feel good about killing her. Not even on accident. I mourn her, too, and her cleverness. I was naive to wish the Games wouldn’t change me. They did the moment I was reaped. I can pretend that the people I’ve killed didn’t die because I wanted them to, but even then the result still stays the same. They’re in a wooden coffin back in their home district, ready to be buried. If it hadn’t been for me, their fates could have been different. I close my eyes for a while and apologise to these girls, to their families. I know there’s no turning back and that they’ll hate me now for the principle of it. I just wish I’d had a choice. 

When my heart feels less heavy, I force myself to think of other things. Like home, returning to District 12. It’s closer than ever, a point I never dared to dream I’d reach. I open my eyes, take a deep breath and remind myself: only one left.

Noon comes and goes and Katniss sleeps peacefully. There’s still no sound or movement outside of our cave so there’s no reason to wake her. It’s troubling that there isn’t. Cato has to be on the move, and he knows where the fire was. If he wasn’t close then, he must have moved some distance by now. He won’t just wait until we show ourselves. From what I’ve seen, he hunts until he gets what he wants, enjoys the thrill of the chase. I wonder if he has some kind of plan set up to trap us, but I don’t know if he has that in him. I sip from the water bottle next to me as I ponder how we’ll meet Cato in the end.

Katniss wakes up somewhere during the afternoon, blinking against the sunlight. Her arms stretch out of the sleeping bag and one lands in my lap.

“Any sign of our friend?” She says, sitting up. The wound on her forehead is healing nicely. I shake my head.

“No, he’s keeping a disturbingly low profile.” I say.

“How long do you think we’ll have before the Gamemakers drive us together?” She asks, and I think about it for a moment.

“Well, Foxface died almost a day ago, so there’s been plenty of time for the audience to place bets and get bored. I guess it could happen at any moment.” I say. Betting on the victor is the most important one of all; I’m sure the betting salons in the Capitol are being overrun by people holding slips with our names on it. I don’t actually know how the betting works, but that’s how I imagine it, anyway. Odds boards with our faces on them like they were on the advertising boards I could see from the roof of the Training Centre.

“Yeah, I have a feeling today’s the day.” Katniss says. She sits up and looks out of the cave. “I wonder how they’ll do it.” 

I don’t reply. The Gamemakers can do anything they want, like the fires or the feast. One year, they released a tidal wave that drowned almost half of the tributes. I’d rather not imagine the horror they might subject us to in order to get us to fight it out. But I also have a feeling that they’ll have something coming for us sooner rather than later.

“Well, until they do, no sense in wasting a hunting day. But we should probably eat as much as we can hold just in case we run into trouble.” Katniss says matter-of-factly, pulling me out of my thoughts. 

I pack up our things for the last time while Katniss spreads out our food. The amount of supplies Katniss has managed to collect during her time here still impresses me after these days. Once I’m done, I’m met with a selection of rabbit, roots, greens and those delicious rolls with cheese on them. She tucks the leftover squirrel and apple away for later. 

We eat in silence, completely focussed on the food. There’s a finality to this meal; this might be the last time we eat in the arena. The thought of that almost makes my head spin. 

We leave the cave and I watch Katniss pat the rocks goodbye to our little home. No matter what happens, I feel like we’ll be out of the arena soon. Katniss feels it, too. Cato is here somewhere and it’s us or him. 

“We should wash up before we leave here.” Katniss suggests as we set off. I look down at myself and realise that a bath couldn’t hurt; my clothes are dirty and sweaty after sitting in them for days and I feel grubby all of a sudden. I don’t dare smell my armpits. The complete lack of personal hygiene in the arena is a stark contrast to how perfectly presented we were before the Games started. It’s lucky they even recognise us anymore. 

We walk down to the stream and the prospect of the cold water invigorates me. It’s weird how things like this completely disappear into the background in the arena. Grime and dirt are nothing when you’re faced with death. But now I find myself itching to be clean.

We pull up short when we reach what’s left of the stream. The bed where it once was is now dry and brittle, no trace left of the water that once ran through here. The stream is gone.


	25. The Lake

Katniss squats and touches the dusty earth with her fingertips. 

“Not even a little damp. They must have drained it while we slept.” She says, baffled. I’m glad we filled up our water bottles yesterday, but between them we’ll only have enough water to comfortably last us through the day. Combined with the ever rising temperature, we’re in for trouble. The sun is already beating down on us relentlessly. Why would they do this now? It feels like a cruel joke to produce rain for days and then take away any and all water. If the streams are dry, then maybe the only source will be...

“The lake.” I think out loud, realisation dawning on me. “That’s where they want us to go.” This is the trick from the Gamemakers we were waiting for. Herding what’s left of us to one central place.

“Maybe the ponds still have some.” Katniss says hopefully, but her eyes betray her fear.

“We can check.” I say, but deep down I know it’s a lost cause. We find a pond that Katniss has been to before but find it dry like the stream. What once was the bottom of the pond is now a dusty bed, plants lying dead in the dirt. It’s all the confirmation we need. We sit at the shell of the pond as Katniss ponders.

“You’re right. They’re driving us to the lake.” She says at last. Out in the open, the Capitol is bound to have a spectacle. We won’t have a choice but to go there if we don’t want to get dehydrated. I wonder if Cato is figuring this out when we are, finding that his sources have dried up. Or maybe he’s been by the lake all this time, like at the start of the Games.

“Do you want to go straightaway or wait until the water’s tapped out?” Katniss asks. 

“Let’s go now while we’ve had food and rest.” I say. “Let’s just go end this thing.” My determination to leave this place is growing by the minute. What a contrast to when I got here. I never thought I’d see District 12 again, and now I’m one death away from going home with Katniss. I’d feel more remorse about what needs to happen if it were anyone but Cato. My sympathy stretches far, but even Cato is beyond its reach. Besides, we’ll need to replenish our bottles regardless of the threat.

Before we make the trek to the lake, I take a moment to wrap my arms around Katniss and say: “Two against one. Should be a piece of cake.” Maybe if I say it easily, it’ll come easily.

“Next time we eat, it will be in the Capitol.” Katniss says confidently. Her vendetta against Cato is invigorating her fighting spirit, too. She’s even smiling a little at the thought.

“You bet it will.” I keep her in my arms for a few moments and close my eyes, kissing the crown of her head. It’s easy to imagine that we’re in District 12, enjoying a sunny day together. Maybe we’ll be able to do that when we get home. When I open my eyes again, it’s like I’ve travelled a thousand miles. We break apart in silence and set off for the lake.

Katniss’ stride is confident as we walk, her bow strung and at the ready. I keep my hand close to the knife in my belt, just in case. She doesn’t mind that I’m loud anymore now that we don’t need to hunt. Secretly, I think she’d like to find Cato and surprise him, ending it then and there. It would certainly be a relief. But Cato doesn’t show, and we walk on. 

Her pace is a bit too fast for me at times, and I need to rest more than I would like. Despite feeling better, my leg will take a long time to heal properly. I find myself out of breath too quickly and lightheaded if I breathe wrong. Maybe they’ll be able to help me with that in the Capitol. 

We take a rest underneath the tree where Katniss dropped the tracker jackers. I recognise it because the empty shell of the nest lies on the forest floor, completely dried out and abandoned. Vivid flashbacks rush through my mind as I see Glimmer’s swollen body, Katniss with the bow kneeling in front of her, pushing her away to save her, and then Cato… I’m far away again when Katniss clears her throat and brings me back.

“Let’s move on.” Katniss says, and despite my fatigue, I don’t object. This haunting place is a grim reminder of what we’ve been through. I push myself up and stifle a groan as I start walking again, my legs stiff. The pack on my shoulders digs into my skin and I focus on that discomfort instead of the pain of walking on. 

It’s early evening when we reach the place where the Games started. All of the traces left by other tributes have vanished. The rain must have washed them away, erasing them forever. Even the place where the supplies were is wiped clean; no trace of bombs or the ingenuity of the layout thought out by Tera. We walk over to the Cornucopia to check if it’s empty, because Katniss told me about how Foxface used that to her advantage at the feast. It’s completely bare, not a morsel of anything left. And no Cato hiding in there, either. So we walk to the lake and fill our water bottles slowly, looking around as if Cato would jump out of nowhere. Wind is whipping around us like it did when I slept here, only now it’s welcome in this heat. Despite the setting sun, the air is still stifling. I wonder if the night will be the same, now that we won’t have the cave to protect us.

“We don’t want to fight him after dark. There’s only one pair of glasses.” Katniss says, frowning. Those special glasses make all the difference. I never gave much thought to why the Careers were wearing them, but it’s clear now. I think about what we could do as I’m putting drops of iodine into the water to purify it. 

“Maybe that’s what he’s waiting for. What do you want to do? Go back to the cave?” I ask, thinking about the long trek back. If Cato doesn’t show, we’ve wasted energy coming here. But we do need the water. 

“Either that or find a tree. But let’s give him another half an hour or so. Then we’ll take cover.” She replies. A tree still doesn’t seem appealing to me as I stretch out my leg to rest it. All of the walking has made me tired again. Never mind the frequent stops, it feels like I’ve run for miles.

I watch in silence as Katniss starts whistling a tune. It comes as naturally to her as breathing, it seems. Some mockingjays in nearby trees pause their own melodies to listen to hers. The clever songbirds wait patiently, learning the whistle by heart. She repeats it, giving them another listen to train their ears. Then one mockingjay carefully trills the tune, followed by another, and another. Suddenly the entire forest comes alive with the melody, bouncing back and overlapping until the simple tune is turned into a beautiful song. I stare from them to Katniss, looking at her in awe.

“Just like your father.” I say. She touches her fingers to the mockingjay pin that’s fastened to her shirt. It makes me remember my own token and I touch the pocket where it sits. Despite it all, it has stayed with me.

“That’s Rue’s song.” She says quietly. “I think they remember it.” The mockingjays are still carrying the tune, their harmonies creating an almost ethereal sound. It’s easy to get lost in the music of it, the way it almost makes you forget where you are. We sit by the lake for a while, still waiting for Cato, but mostly enjoying the performance. Katniss even leans back on her elbows in the sunset. I’m looking out over the lake, the mockingjays at my back. Peace. I turn to look at Katniss and quietly admire her relaxed face. I almost don’t hear when the mockingjays start singing out of tune. 

Their melodies break up chaotically and some of them start to shriek. Then suddenly all of them cry out in alarm and Katniss and I are up on our feet. I pull out my knife without thinking and Katniss is ready to shoot in a heartbeat. Cato crashes out of the woods and is running straight at us. He doesn’t have his spear with him, which is odd. Still, he’s making a beeline for us, dead set on running in to us if he doesn’t stop. Katniss shoots an arrow at him and it hits him in the middle of his chest, but then falls on the ground like his chest is protected somehow. I’m dumbfounded by this entire affair, glued to the ground as he comes closer and closer.

“He’s got some kind of body armour!” Katniss shouts at me, confirming my thoughts. 

Cato is right in front of us now, and I firmly hold my knife as I brace myself for his impact. His face is bright red and dripping with sweat. I can hear his pants coming in heavy as he’s in front of me. Instead of attacking us, he rushes past us as if we aren’t there, not slowing down at all. His footfalls pound the earth and his face is the picture of terror. What could Cato be so afraid of that he’d act like this? I stare at his back before turning around to look at the place where he emerged.

My eyes scan the woods for any sign of trouble, and my breathing stutters as I see a creature jump out of the woods in our direction. Their monstrous snouts growl in the dying light and they’re gaining on us with incredible speed. Katniss turns and runs right after Cato, scrambling to get away. I run as fast as I can, but I know I’m not fast enough.


	26. Victor(s)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shadows fall  
> And hope has fled  
> Steel your heart  
> The dawn will come  
> The night is long  
> And the path is dark  
> Look to the sky  
> For one day soon  
> The dawn will come  
> \- Dragon Age: Inquisition

More and more of them start to emerge from the treeline. I can hear their growls multiply and close in on me as the entire group is on my heels. These can’t be anything but muttations. The Capitol’s final word in arena horrors. Drying up the stream is a trifle against what they’ve done now. I look behind me and see them running on their hind legs in an eerily human way, running so fast that it feels like I’m in a nightmare where I can’t move forward. My heart is in my throat and I’m already panting, desperate to stay away from them.

My leg prevents me from running at top speed, and it’s more of a hobble as I follow Katniss and Cato to the Cornucopia. Cato’s already up there, with Katniss just touching its surface. The mutts are coming closer by the second and I think this might be it. They’re outnumbering me by at least a dozen. I try to steel myself for what’s about to happen as I move on, hoping against hope that I’ll make it. Then Katniss whips around and I see her eyes widen at the scene. An arrow flies past me and I hear one of the mutts yelp as she hits it. She’s stopped her climb and I wave up at her frantically.

“Go, Katniss! Go!” I scream at the top of my lungs, because she needs to save herself now. She starts climbing the Cornucopia and I see her slow rise as I make my way there. She’s almost at the top when I reach it, my knife still clasped in my trembling hand. A mutt is close behind me and snaps its jaws at me, making me cry out in fear. Katniss turns around.

“Climb!” She yells, shooting an arrow at the mutt that snapped at me. It gives me a few precious seconds to get away. I set my right foot on the Cornucopia and try to find a foothold as I put my hands on the hot metal. The knife in my hand is hindering me but there’s no time to put it in my belt, it’ll cost me time and probably my life. My fingers and legs are screaming as I frantically find ridges and ledges to hold onto, not caring about the pain that spikes through me. As I feel my heart hammer in my chest, I try to block out the mutts behind me and focus on this one task. Grab, hold, push up.

When I’m halfway to the top, Katniss pulls me up by my arm and I land on the surface of the Cornucopia with a thud, panting and with aching limbs. The metal is hot enough to scald me after being in the sun all day, but I’m so relieved to have gotten away that it barely registers. I look over and see Katniss turn to Cato, who’s doubled over and retching over the side of the Cornucopia. Sweat is pouring down his face in buckets. He’s frantically looking out at the side where the mutts are, asking if they can climb.

“What?” Katniss shouts at him over their growls.

“He said, ‘Can they climb it’?” I shout back. Katniss looks over the side of the Cornucopia while I attempt to sit up, tucking the knife into my belt. The mutts are making high pitched noises to one another and I hear their sniffling. I startle as one of them makes an attempt to jump onto the horn, making a dull clanging sound that vibrates throughout the structure. The sound of their nails scraping against the metal makes my skin crawl.

Suddenly, Katniss shrieks and for a second I think I’ve lost her. I scramble to stand up and get to her in time. But she didn’t get attacked. She’s standing near the edge of the Cornucopia, looking down at the mutts, her bow poised to shoot. Her hands tremble violently when she shoots one. It makes a gurgling noise as it dies and falls on the ground. 

“Katniss?” I finally reach her, watching her terrified face as I grip her arm.

“It’s her!” She yells, pointing to the dead mutt. She’s shaking so badly that I think she might pass out.

“Who?” I ask, looking at her face intently. Her lip trembles.

She’s looking at the mutts, frantically examining all of them. I follow her gaze but don’t see what she does. Their furs have different colours, and they seem to stand on their hind legs just fine, as I noticed earlier.

“What is it, Katniss?” I ask, shaking her shoulder to pull her out of her thoughts.

“It’s them.” She says, her voice utterly broken. “It’s all of them. The others. Rue and Foxface and… all of the other tributes.” 

My breath hitches when it finally hits me; the red fur of Foxface, the small mutt that can’t be anyone but Rue. Air struggles to get into my lungs as I realise the true horror of these mutts. There’s something about their eyes as well. They look too human. 

“What did they do to them? You don’t think… those could be their real eyes?” I ask. Their familiarity is unsettling enough, but the thought of the Gamemakers using the tributes’ bodies like that threatens to make me sick. It isn’t enough that they’re dead. Now they’re monsters, too.

The mutts try a new tactic while we talk about their appearance, trying to get our heads around what’s happening. Two groups stand at either side of the horn and use their legs to jump up. Just as I see one coming awfully close to Katniss, I’m yanked away by another, feeling its powerful jaw gripping my calf in a deadly lock. I cry out and Katniss grabs my arm just as I’m gaining momentum. I know it’s taking all of her strength to stop me from being pulled over the edge. 

“Kill it, Peeta! Kill it!” She’s shouting, and I reach for the knife in my belt once again to stab at the mutt. I look back and stab wildly, feeling the mutt lose its grip on me as I sink the knife into its eye. Its blond, curly fur reminds me of the girl from 8 and I panic, watching her die again. Katniss is pulling me up and I suppress a retch when I land on the horn, my knife clattering down beside me. My leg is starting to bleed onto the horn and I try to stop it with my hands to no avail. The bite mark is too deep.

We drag ourselves as high onto the horn as we can, my hands slick with my own blood, and I almost forget that the mutts aren’t our only problem. Cato is still lying down, panting but not as much as he was before. Katniss is pointing her bow at him but jerks it to the side to shoot an enormous mutt with dark fur that must have been Thresh. I hear how it yelps and falls down with a terrible crash, the other mutts howling. I’m so concentrated on Katniss that I don’t notice that Cato has moved until he grabs me from behind and hauls me up, pressing down on my windpipe with his arm. The panic is immediate, but no words come out as I try to yell Katniss’ name. She’s still pointing her bow at the mutts, making sure none of the others jump up.

I’m clawing at Cato’s arm desperately when Katniss sees what’s happened and the shock registers on her face. The pain of my wounded leg and the lack of air are making me dizzy and my arms start flailing instead of clawing. I try desperately to breathe, hopelessly cut off. My vision is starting to go black at the edges and I know I won’t have long.

I see Katniss’ bow pointed at us through blurry eyes, and feel Cato’s chest reverberate against mine as he laughs.

“Shoot me and he goes down with me.” If Katniss shoots Cato, we both die. But at least she’ll win. Katniss is still but her breathing is hard, trying to find a solution. Even the mutts grow silent as we all stand there, mulling over our options. A stalemate. I’m holding onto consciousness but feel myself fading out, as if I’m slipping into a hazy dream. What to do? In my last seconds, I think of the others that have died here. I think of the girl from 8, how desperate she’d been. How she even showed me where I needed to plant my knife to end her suffering.

With all of my strength, I raise my hand and put it on Cato’s. Slowly, as best as I can, my vision fading to black completely, I draw an X on the back of his hand. Shoot here, Katniss. Seconds that feel like an eternity pass. I vaguely register Cato’s yelp as I crash into him and then onto the roof of the horn. The sudden change gives me a start. My eyes open just in time to see Cato slip off of the Cornucopia’s surface as Katniss is clutching me to her. We hold onto each other for dear life as we watch him hit the ground with a thud, the impact cracking something in his body. I expect to hear a cannon as I start coughing and heaving, regaining the oxygen in my lungs. I’m still seeing spots and lean onto Katniss because I don’t trust myself to keep my body together. 

No cannon comes. The Games haven’t ended yet. 

We sit there and stare at the sky as we hear the snarls and growls from the mutts, the shrieks and cries. Cato isn’t going down without a fight, even a losing one like this. I hear the clang of something metal, like a sword. He must have had something hidden under his clothes. Sometimes a mutt cries out and we hear it fall on the ground, signalling its death. Cato’s body armour must be the one thing protecting him. 

I’m losing a lot of blood. I feel it flow; the hot, sticky liquid saturating my pants as I finally hear Cato fall on the ground. The mutts must be dragging him into the Cornucopia, because I hear the sound moving around and his weak cries of protest. Even now, no cannon sounds.

Dusk comes suddenly and the anthem plays and the sound of it blares at me, showing no one in the sky. It almost feels like a taunt, the empty sky above us while underneath, a boy is fighting for his life. I start to shiver in the growing darkness, exhausted and weak from the wound that’s still gushing blood, holding onto Katniss because there is nothing else to do.

Faint moaning is coming from underneath us, Cato’s strength and spirit fading as the hours pass. It’s brutally cold on the Cornucopia. The contrast couldn’t be bigger from the heat of the day, and Katniss and I start shivering violently as the biting wind cuts through us. All of our supplies are by the lake without a way to reach them. No medicine, no sleeping bag. Nothing to protect or help us.

She turns to me, looking at the state of my leg. In the pale moonlight, I can see the frown that sets between her eyebrows. She’s biting her lip again, like when she saw Cato’s wound on my thigh. She quickly takes off her jacket and shirt, putting only her jacket back on. Her teeth are clattering in the cold, the action exposing her to the gruelling weather. 

“Lie down, Peeta.” She says gently as she shakes. I wish I could hold her. No more trying to not let me die. She touches the wound the mutt left on me and I wince, sharp pain shooting all the way up to my spine. I look at Katniss’ face, at her trying to figure out a way to save me. I hope she’ll never have to save me again after this. She grabs her shirt and rips a sleeve off of it, wrapping it tightly around my leg right under my knee. Then she takes one of her arrows and wraps it in there, tying a knot. The pressure on my leg is different now, focussed on the knot instead of the wound. It must be something her mother taught her.

“Don’t go to sleep.” She tells me urgently, sitting up to face me. How does she know that all I want to do is close my eyes?

“Are you cold?” I ask, unzipping my jacket so Katniss can lie next to me. I wrap it around both of us, sharing our body heat like we did in the sleeping bag. We’re both so thin from our time in the arena that the jacket fits perfectly around us. How I dream of that sleeping bag now. Katniss’s shivers become slightly less bad and it’s something in terms of progress at least. The Cornucopia isn’t helping us either; the burning metal is slowly becoming colder and colder, transforming into a layer of what feels like ice under our bodies. 

“Cato may win this thing yet.” Katniss whispers solemnly.

“Don’t you believe it.” I say, kissing the back of her head and pulling up her hood. My optimism is an act, but I can’t break in front of her. We have to hold on for as long as we can. But we’re both bitterly cold, and I’m losing my focus more and more.

The next hours drag on endlessly, with the cold and Cato’s moans. They’re like an endless loop of horrific sounds that range from whimpers to pleas for help. The mutts show no sign of stopping so long as his heart still beats, and noises of jaws closing and claws scratching sound from underneath us.

“Why don’t they just kill him?” Katniss asks grimly, contempt clear in her voice. All of my determination and spite has gone. Even Cato doesn’t deserve a slow death like this, in the dark, being hacked and torn apart by mutts. But of course the Capitol wouldn’t agree.

“You know why.” I reply, pulling Katniss even closer to me to remind myself we’re still here. Cato won’t die as long as the audience is still captivated by the spectacle. I’ve never hated anything, but I hate the Capitol so intensely in this moment that it makes me want to scream.

Hours pass, and the same sounds come through the metal of the Cornucopia. A part of me feels trapped in a nightmare, unable to run away from the terror of this night, of being here. I can’t think about anything but Cato’s gurgling voice begging to die. I don’t know if I’m still bleeding, but I start to feel dizzy again and my eyes become heavier and heavier. Every time I go slack, Katniss yells out my name and I startle awake again. I know I shouldn’t sleep, I know I’m frightening her by dozing off, but the urge is overwhelming and I can’t seem to shake it. After the third time, Katniss’ yelp is so high that my heart races when I wake up. I hug her to me and squeeze her to let her know I’m awake. She’s holding my hands in her own underneath the jacket, trailing my fingers.

“Look at the moon.” I whisper to her, finding my teeth clattering. She looks up and every now and again I repeat it, willing her to see that time is still moving forward. That the night will end. Dawn will be breaking soon and the sun will come up. I have to hold on to this simple fact to keep my sanity.

When dawn comes, I point it out to Katniss. She looks at the grey sky, some stars still visible in it as they make way for the sun. After this endless night, the coming sun is a reminder that it may not be hopeless yet. 

I listen out for Cato and hear his moans come from the mouth of the Cornucopia. I don’t know if he dragged himself there or if the mutts did it, but it gives us a chance to do something at last.

“I think he’s closer now. Katniss, can you shoot him?” I ask, my voice feeble to my own ears.

“My last arrow’s in your tourniquet.” She says.

“Make it count.” I reply, releasing her from my jacket so she can move. She frees the arrow and binds the tourniquet tight again when she’s done. She grabs her bow, which lies near the place she dropped it when she shot Cato, and I grab her waist with both hands as she lies down flat on the horn to keep her there. Seconds pass and my arms start to shake at the exertion. She releases an arrow and I pull her back in towards me.

“Did you get him?” I whisper.

A cannon goes off.

“Then we won, Katniss.” I say without any cheer. The victory feels hollow and meaningless after all that has happened. This past night alone has broken me.

“Hurray for us.” She grits, equally unsettled. Her bow is clutched in her hands.

The mutts disappear into a hole that opens up in the middle of the plain, closing again after they’ve all jumped in. The grass looks like regular grass again.

Normally, when a tribute wins, they hear the trumpets go off in the arena to signal their victory. The victor is shown with a close-up shot of them alone in the arena. But nothing comes.

“Hey!” Katniss shouts at the sky, at the Capitol. “What’s going on?”

“Maybe it’s the body. Maybe we have to move away from it.” I say, thinking it might be the reason for the delay. Maybe they want a shot of us by ourselves. Or maybe they’re scared we might do something to Cato’s body. It’s happened before.

“Okay. Think you could make it to the lake?” She asks. And in truth, I don’t, but what other option is there?

“Think I better try.” I say. We slowly scoot down the horn until it becomes too steep and we fall down on the ground. Katniss stands up to shake the cold from her bones, but I’m not so fast. I realise I can barely stand without keeling over. In a daze, we make it back to the lake and Katniss brings some cold water to my lips. I swallow it down without thinking, feeling it run through my frozen body. Everything feels like it’s solid, stuck. I sit down and catch my breath.

The hovercraft appears out of nowhere and we watch as what’s left of Cato is hauled up. His body armour is still holding on, despite the tears and marks it bears. My wound starts to throb and I look down at it, seeing fresh blood seeping out from it. After the hovercraft disappears, there is still no movement or sound. The arena feels like an unknown place to me now, without anyone else but Katniss and I. I want to leave. Now.

“What are they waiting for?” I ask. Speaking costs me more effort than it should. I have to breathe deeply to make sure I get all of the words out.

“I don’t know.” Katniss says, tears in her eyes. She stands up and searches for something a few feet away, scouring the ground. Then she picks up an arrow. It must be the one she shot at Cato when he ran at us. She’s about to walk back when Claudius Templesmith’s voice booms through the arena one final time.

“Greetings to the final contestants of the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games. The earlier revision has been revoked. Closer examination of the rule book has disclosed that only one winner may be allowed. Good luck and may the odds be ever in your favour.” Katniss looks at me in utter shock as the words sink in. My face falls, dread filling every inch of my body. Of course they wouldn’t truly let both of us win. They wanted to exploit the fact that I love her, binding me to her in the arena to then take her away again for the last time. I suppose I’d been foolish to believe I was ever going home, after all.

“If you think about it, it’s not that surprising.” I say softly. I stand up slowly, breathing through the nausea and lightheadedness, my wound still bleeding despite the tourniquet. I move toward Katniss, because I want to hold her one last time. Look in her eyes and let her know it’s fine like this, really. I never expected to win this, anyway. But I did expect her to. I need her to. She’s the one who’ll live for both of us. I pull the knife from my belt because I don’t want to die with someone else’s blood on me.

Suddenly I see Katniss’ bow pointed at me, right as I throw the knife into the lake. She drops her bow and steps back, looking at me in confusion and fear. 

“No. Do it.” I say, pushing both of her hands on her weapons again. I won’t resent her. I’ll be relieved.

“I can’t. I won’t.” She whispers, tears pooling in her eyes.

“Do it. Before they send those mutts back or something. I don’t want to die like Cato.” I say, pleading with her. I would be fine dying by her hand. I know she’d make it quick.

“Then you shoot me. You shoot me and go home and live with it!” She shouts furiously, pushing the weapons into my hands. 

“You know I can’t.” I say, throwing the weapons on the ground. If she dies, I’ll die with her. I’ll never truly leave this place.

“Fine, I’ll go first anyway.” I say, bending down to release the tourniquet, losing the pressure under my knee and feeling my blood flow heavily. 

“No, you can’t kill yourself.” She says, falling to her knees to press the bandages to stop the bleeding.

“Katniss. It’s what I want.” I say, tears in my eyes now, accepting my death like I did on the train. Only now I know that it’ll be here soon.

“You’re not leaving me here alone.” She says desperately.

“Listen. We both know they have to have a victor.” I try to reason. “It can only be one of us. Please, take it. For me.” I take one of her hands and find it slick with my blood. 

“I love you, Katniss. More than my own life do I love you. I can’t go home and know you’re not in District 12, walking around the market or talking to my father. Please, live for me.” I plead, but she’s not looking in my eyes. I can see the cogs turning in her mind. 

She reaches for the pouch of nightlock on her belt and I hold her wrist to stop whatever she plans to do with it. “No, I won’t let you.”

‘Trust me.” She whispers, and for the first time, I see a glint in her eyes that’s not caused by tears. I study her face and let her go, trusting her as she asked me to. 

She pours a handful of berries into my hand and then into her own. I look up at her face and know what we have to do.

“On the count of three?” She says. Even though my heart breaks, I know this is the only way. I lean down to kiss her one last time, my lips barely touching hers as I pour every feeling I’ve ever had into the gentle touch. 

‘The count of three.” We turn our backs on each other and I take a deep breath. One hand is holding out the berries, the other is holding Katniss’. Until the very end. We’re leaving the arena together after all.

“Hold them out. I want everyone to see.” I say. Katniss squeezes my hand, which signals that she’s ready. I lift my face up to the warm sun and think about what it’ll be like.

“One.”

“Two.” I bring the berries to my lips.

“Three.” I put the berries in my mouth just as static booms and Claudius Templesmith’s voice cries: “Stop! Stop! Ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to present the victors of the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games, Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark! I give you — the tributes of District Twelve!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is the most intense one I've ever written. I hope you enjoyed it.


	27. Adjustments

Katniss and I spit out the berries and I pull her to the lake, crashing down on the ground to rinse out any juice that might be left. The close call makes me rub my tongue with my sleeve for good measure. We hold on to each other, both of us shivering and exhausted and somehow still very much alive.

“You didn’t swallow any?” She asks. I shake my head.

“You?” I ask in return.

“Guess I’d be dead by now if I did.” I hold her tightly as we wait to be taken out of here, looking to the sky and then to her in the final moments of silence. 

“I’m so proud of you, Katniss, I-” I start to say, but I can tell she doesn’t hear me and I can barely hear myself over the sudden roar of applause pouring into the arena. It must be a live feed from the Capitol.

The hovercraft finally appears over our heads and two ladders drop down, like the ones I used before the Games. Katniss helps me stand up and I limp to a ladder. She’s not letting go of me and I’m thankful for it, of being close to her in this moment. For a second I think about the pack we leave behind, but then I realise we have no use for it anymore. We’re done surviving.

The ladder’s current freezes us in place as we both set one foot on it. The movement has loosened my tourniquet and my vision starts going in and out again as we’re pulled into the hovercraft, the arena becoming smaller and smaller beneath us. When the door closes behind us and I finally know that Katniss is safe, I stop holding on to consciousness and slip away into a deep slumber.

When I wake again, I vaguely register the pain in my leg. I open my eyes and see a sterile white room without no doors or windows, only a bed and some equipment that beeps every now and then. I don’t know how long I’ve slept, but I don’t feel weak or dizzy. Some tubes disappear into my hands and I lift them up, feeling surprisingly strong after coming out of the arena. The arena. My heart picks up and I can hear the beeps becoming more and more frequent. I sit up and take some deep breaths, but after being in the open for however long, being in a room like this feels like I’m trapped. Cold seeps into my hand and I see a clear blue liquid move through the tube into my body. Before I can register what it is, sleep overtakes me.

The next time I wake up, a doctor comes into the room, followed by an Avox carrying a tray of food. He stands a few feet away from me, the Avox stands behind him. Pain shoots through my leg again when I try to move and I sit up to inspect it, until the doctor steps forward and stops me.

“Peeta, take it easy. Lie back on the pillows. I’ve come here to tell you about a surgery we’ve had to perform on you when you were released from the arena.” He says in a soft tone. His artificially enhanced blue eyes look into mine intently and I gulp, feeling anxious again. The sight of other people makes me apprehensive, and I have to tell myself I’m not in the arena anymore. His words take me a minute to register. A surgery?

“You’ve lost a lot of blood, so we’ve given you a transfusion.” He starts explaining the procedure, and that much I can follow. Replenishing my blood by giving me someone else’s. But then.

“Miss Everdeen’s tourniquet saved your life, but unfortunately we were not able to save your leg.” I look away from him as I let the words hit me. Save my leg? But it’s hurting, I can feel the sharp pains shooting through me as he speaks.

“We had to amputate your left leg, under your knee. You might be experiencing something called phantom pain. That is because the nerve endings, while severed, still function. Your brain still thinks you have your leg.” He says, and I finally turn over the cover to look at myself. He doesn’t stop me this time. My breath catches and I feel numb as I see my left knee ending in a stump that is covered in thick, white bandages. My right leg looks unscathed and the contrast between them makes my stomach drop.

“I imagine this must be quite a shock to you, Peeta. But we are able to provide you with a prosthetic leg fitted to your body, so you will be able to walk. In time and with practice, you will be able to use it without issue. It will be ready tomorrow.” The doctor says, then disappears out of the room. My mind is racing but my thoughts cloud over. The Avox sets the tray of food on a side table for me, but I can’t bring myself to eat. When I’m left alone again, I allow myself to cry. About the arena, about Katniss, about whom I’ve killed, about the injustice of having to choose between Katniss and me in the end, about losing a limb. Despite the doctor’s words, I feel barely comforted. Hot tears wash down my cheeks and stain my pillow, sobs racking through me ever more violently until I’m sedated again, not even being allowed to grieve.

I wake up once more from the sedation as another doctor slips into my room, followed by an Avox carrying a large metal box. The Avox sets it down on a side table in the room and walks away, leaving me with yet another person that I don’t know. I’m tired of these unfamiliar faces. I’d hoped to see Katniss soon.

“Good morning, Peeta. I’m here to do your fitting.” The doctor speaks up, pulling me from my thoughts. She has me sit on the side of the bed and takes out the prosthetic leg. It’s a smooth silver colour and has some kind of system that melts it right into my own skin, like it’s an extension of myself. She puts it on swiftly, obviously practised. The mechanism of it is locked in place. My leg now seamlessly colours from pink to silver, my new calf slim and sturdy. I expected it to hurt when she put it on, but instead I only feel pressure.

“Try and walk.” She says. She even has a contraption brought in that consists of two metal bars, spaced out horizontally so I fit between them, resting my hands on the bars.

I grit my teeth at having to stand up, but find that I barely have any pain. My leg is unstable at first and I lean heavily on my arms, but find them strong, too. Whatever they’ve been giving me in those tubes has made me strong while I slept.

“Good.” The doctor says, watching me put one foot in front of the other. I find that putting weight on my new leg is odd, but not painful. The pressure is different. I do a couple of passes through the metal bars before the doctor makes a pleased sound. 

“You’ve done well. I will take it off and see you tomorrow before you meet your team again. You will also get a cane to give you added stability, to help you adapt.” She says as I sit down on the bed again. I expect to be winded after days of inactivity, but I find my breathing steady. 

“Is Katniss okay?” I ask her carefully, and she just nods slowly, as if the question is absurd. Still, I feel relief that Katniss is recovering, too. We’ll see each other again and everything will be okay. Knowing that I’ll meet my team tomorrow gives me some sense of perspective. I’ll leave this room sooner rather than later, and I’m glad for it.

Food is brought to my room again and I eat all of it this time; broth, one roll, some apple sauce and a cup of juice. It’s light and nothing like the stew I’ve had before, but it tastes delicious. I find myself thinking about what’s happened again, only this time I’m calmer, more at ease. Losing my leg is a price I’m willing to pay for being alive right now, for going home together with Katniss. I’ll adapt, make it work. While I eat, I look down at my hands and find the skin smooth, without imperfections. The scars I had on my palms from falling into the vase have disappeared completely. It’s like I’m wiped clean again, any traces of the Games gone. Though I’ll always have a reminder on me, anyway.

I’m knocked out again after eating, which doesn’t make sense to me. But I welcome sleep anyway, sinking down into the hazy world of the sedative. When I wake up, I find an outfit has been spread out on my bed and sit up properly to see it. My heart sinks when I see it’s the same clothes I wore in the arena. I have to look around my room and remind myself that that is over before I swing myself to sit on the side of my bed and start getting dressed slowly. I do wonder what the point of it is. The doctor comes in some time later and shows me how to take on and take off my leg so I can learn how to do it myself. I try it a few times until I feel like I can manage it. My fingers tremble as they grace the seam where my skin stops and metal starts.

“You’re ready to meet the team now.” The doctor says, and I nod. I’d rather see Katniss first, but there must be a reason why that’s not the case. And anyway, I would really like to see familiar faces. The wall opens before me and I walk through, trying to focus on my steps. The cane the doctor provided for me helps tremendously in keeping my balance. It makes a soft knocking sound against the tiles of the hospital floor.

“Peeta!” Someone shouts down the hall, and for a second I think it’s Katniss after all. But then I see Effie’s bright pink hair and my hope is struck down. I walk over to them, not daring to go any faster than a leisurely pace yet, until I reach a big room where Haymitch, Effie and Portia stand waiting for me.

I look at them, at my team, as I stand before them. Effie moves in on me and hugs me tightly, tearing up on my shoulder.

“You were such pearls!” She says in her high pitched voice, and I pat her back. Portia moves in after her and her hug is warmer, more comforting. I’ve missed her simple company, the way she doesn’t overcomplicate things.

“You’ve been so brave, Peeta. I’m so proud of you.” She whispers, and now I’m at risk of crying. But I’ve cried enough and I’d rather do it alone. I hold her for a few seconds until Haymitch clears his throat. We let go and he steps in.

“Well done, kid. Playing them like that.” He says gruffly, and I note a hint of pride in his voice. I don’t want to talk about how he probably lost hope for me before realising what I was up to, because I don’t want him to lie to my face. What use would it be to have it confirmed? I just nod and thank him for the food he sent Katniss and I.

“Is Katniss okay?” I ask them, because I trust either of them more than the doctors a hundred times over.

“Yes, she’s with Cinna right now, getting ready for the reunion. They want you to see each other for the first time then.” Portia says, putting her hand on my shoulder. I nod. It makes sense that they would have our true reunion televised. How I wish I could hold her again, without cameras prying into our lives. 

“Let’s go get you ready.” Portia says, steering me out of the room and into an elevator that delivers us in the main lobby of the Training Centre. This wing of the hospital is different from where we went to fix my hands, and I think it’s because fixing a tribute after the Games is a harder task than fixing an injury before they start. It’s much lower beneath the ground, anyway. Several guards stand at the exits and I eye them as Portia and I take another elevator to the District 12 apartment. It’s eerily empty after having been surrounded by tributes and their teams not long ago. As the numbers on the elevator screen rise, I hear cannons go off in my head at all the tributes that have died. I look at the ground, seeing the girl from 8’s pleading eyes and Foxface’s emaciated body being lifted into the air. The images won’t stop conjuring themselves. I try to shake them off and put on a smile when the elevator stops at our floor.

When we arrive in the apartment, my prep team almost jumps me in their excitement. They’re already crying, but somehow their makeup is still in place. Their cheers and words are clear enough: they’re genuinely happy to see me. And I suppose I’m happy to see them, too. I never expected to. 

I’m half carried into the dining room by their arms where we sit down to eat. A plate of roast beef, vegetables and rolls is presented to me. I eat it hungrily, enjoying my first real meal out of the arena after the broth. At first I think it won’t be enough, but by the time I finish my plate I can tell that my stomach is full. It’ll take some time to be able to eat more again.

They take me into my bedroom and strip me down. Portia disappears as the prep team examines me like they did in the Remake Centre a lifetime ago. 

“Not a blemish on you.” Gaius says with a note of envy in his voice. I look at myself in the mirror for the first time and see how gaunt and hollow I am. I wasn’t exactly skinny at home, but now I can see my ribs poke out under my skin. My cheeks are sunken in and I can feel my hip bones protruding. When I look further down, I take a deep breath at seeing my legs. They did a fantastic job on the prosthetic, but it’ll take a while before I’ll have gotten used to my new reflection.

After finding nothing to remark upon, they send me into the bathroom to have a shower.

“Would you like the rose scent?” One of them jokes, and I suppress a sigh.

“No, thank you. Something subtle, please.” They push some buttons and I take a refreshing shower, finding some peace in the hot, streaming water. 

They sit me down and start doing my hair and makeup again, like they did for the interview. They chatter excitedly about the Games, about what they thought of all the twists and turns. About me pretending to side with the Careers: “The way I gasped!” About me taking a hit for Katniss: “I was just getting my hair done!” About Katniss finding me in the mud: “I cried buckets! My new eyelashes were almost ruined!” 

I notice that when they speak of the Games, they never mention the horrors of seeing children die. I’m tempted to ask what kind of nail polish they were getting done when Rue died, but bite my tongue. There’s no changing these people. And my resentment won’t change a thing, either. They’ve been brought up to think of the Games as entertainment in the same way that I was brought up to fear them. It’s hard to change an idea when it’s been with you for so long.

They’re speaking over each other and don’t seem to need my input on anything anyway, so I let them talk while they try to make me into someone I’m not. Portia arrives with my outfit. It’s a soft yellow dress shirt with black pants. It’s simple and entirely different from the dramatic outfits from before the Games. I like the boots they’ve given me, they give me a firm hold onto the ground. Maybe Portia made them especially to help me out.

When I put it on, Portia has to take the pants in somewhat because my hips are smaller than she thought. Otherwise, the fit is perfect. I look more like myself than I thought I would; like they’re allowing me to be Peeta Mellark from District 12 again instead of Peeta Mellark, the tribute. I thank the team before we leave the apartment and walk to the elevator together. The cane the doctor gave me is a constant companion, and I lean on it heavily as we stand in the elevator on our way down. 

The elevator takes us to the same floor as the one where we trained before the Games, and from watching them on television I know that it’s normal for the victor to emerge with their team. We need to prepare ourselves and then we’ll be lifted onto a stage where our reunion interview will be. Since Katniss and I are in a unique position, with there being two victors, the order in which things are done is a little different. 

We’re taken to a launch room and I’m left alone as Portia and the others are going to get ready themselves. I’m in a sort of lounge with comfortable chairs and another button that I know summons food and drink. The metal plate in the corner of the room looks perversely like the one in the launch room in the arena. My breath hitches and I have to remind myself that that time is over. I’m taken to my interview, not my death. I sit down on one of the chairs and summon a glass of water. I take sips from it as I try to calm my nerves. Katniss must be nearby, because the show is about to start. Her proximity is the only thing I truly care about. Soon, I tell myself, we’ll be home. And the Capitol won’t watch my every step like they do here.


	28. Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it. The last chapter of a fic that has taken me hours and hours to write. A quarantine project that ran out of hand. I love it more than anything I've ever written.

The anthem plays and I can hear Caesar Flickerman greet the audience from above me. Their applause is deafening and no one has even shown up yet. They give a round of applause again as our prep teams make it onto the stage. Then it’s Effie’s turn, and I remember her showing me what to do on stage; flash them your brightest smile. She must have been dreaming of this moment ever since she started as an escort. Portia and Cinna are next, and their applause is even more thunderous. They’ve played a huge part in our chances before we even entered the arena and deserve all of the praise they get. In another world, I think we’d be close friends. It’s nice to know that I’ll see them again soon. Finally, Haymitch enters the stage and the cheers and shouts go on for minutes on end as he takes in the compliments. I’m still torn about him but no matter what I feel, he’s managed to keep both of us alive. And at the end of the day, isn’t that his purpose? 

A robotic voice tells me to stand on the platform and I straighten my shirt as I walk on it, holding my cane like a lifeline. When it starts to push me up and onto the stage, I remind myself that this part should be easy after what we’ve been through. 

The roar of the audience is deafening and bright lights shine in my eyes as the platform shakes under my unsteady feet. When it finally pushes me up on the stage, the only person I see is Katniss. The relief of seeing her alive and well after this time apart is so overwhelming I have to work not to cry. She’s radiant, dressed in a soft yellow dress that matches my shirt and sways as she moves. Her hair and skin are clean and glowing. She looks devastatingly beautiful. I don’t stop the smile that spreads over my face, looking at her eyes. I haven’t seen her in days, but it doesn’t matter. She’s here now.

Then Katniss is running straight at me and she’s in my arms, almost making me lose my balance as she crashes into me. I use the cane to steady myself so we don’t fall on top of one another. I kiss her and I don’t care that we have an audience. The whoops and cheers fade to the background as I hold her soft curls in my hands and move into her touch, realising that if I had this for the rest of my life, I’d need nothing else. 

Caesar taps my shoulder at one point but I just push his hand away, making the audience go insane. But this isn’t for the audience.

In the end, Haymitch gives us a light shove and we do break apart, casting an awkward smile at him. He points us to where we’ll sit. The victor’s chair is like a throne where the victor sits to rewatch all of their highlights in the Games, but since there’s two of us, they’ve exchanged the chair for a small red couch. It’s soft and velvety and sinks down when I sit on it. Katniss sits down next to me, but then she kicks off her sandals and leans into me as she tucks her feet to the side. I put my arm around her automatically and pull her close to me, reminded of all those hours we spent huddled together to conserve heat. 

Caesar Flickerman opens the show and makes a few jokes as usual. Then comes the recap of the Games; three hours of viewing material taken straight out of the arena, edited to show off the highlights. We’re about to watch 22 children die again, some of them at mine and Katniss’ hands. I take a deep breath and hold Katniss tightly, both of her hands holding my one hand that’s not wrapped around her. I know she dreads this as much as I do. In previous years, I’ve seen victors react in a variety of ways when they see their recaps. I don’t think I’ll be the kind that looks on in triumph.

This year it’s clear that the Games are a love story. The highlights start with everything that went on before the arena. We see ourselves being reaped, then the opening ceremony where we were on fire, our training scores and our interviews. We watch every second of my confession to Caesar and Katniss’ unmistakable blush. They’ve edited some kind of cheerful music to accompany it and it’s strange to see the faces of tributes who died brutally not even a week ago. I see Foxface, Clove, Isla, all of them pass by in the background, unimportant to the story now. The Capitol might forget their faces, but I don’t think I ever will.

Then we come to the time in the arena. They show me shaking my head before the bloodbath, and after that it’s a mixture of us running and tributes dying. I see the tribute who spat blood all over me and see now that it was Marvel’s spear that killed him. Then it’s me running away, getting caught by the Careers. They alternate between me tricking them and Katniss climbing in trees and trying her hardest to survive. I see how hard she sought for water, almost losing the battle. I see now that on the night we found the girl from 8, Katniss was in a tree not 10 feet away from us. 10 feet! My jaw goes slack as I see the Careers and I walk right under her. Then we see the fire, the altercation between Katniss and the Careers, and then Katniss dropping the tracker jacker nest and me pushing her away before Cato crashes through the foliage. I see myself dragging my leg along, finding shelter and then burying myself in the mud bank next to the stream. I never realised I was whispering her name in my sleep.

They show Katniss and Rue, and I feel her tense next to me. Their alliance is forged, a plan is set up. They show how she blew up the supply pile, the enormous explosion. How Foxface managed to steal some supplies right before that happened. Then Rue with a spear through her chest caused by Marvel. Katniss cradling Rue in her arms, her breathing shallow. She sings her a song. The entire audience goes silent as they show Katniss singing it from start to finish, every last note. Her voice is beautiful but broken and I squeeze her hand but it’s like she’s miles away, and maybe that’s better.

Then comes the announcement that two tributes can win. I see how Katniss shouts out my name a second after it ends and feel warm all over. I watch how she’s looking for me, finding me in the mud, caring for me and then drugging me so she can go to the feast. I see how gruesome it was; how Clove’s knife cut her and Thresh let her go because of Rue. How Foxface outsmarted them all again by hiding inside the Cornucopia. How Katniss stumbled back to the cave and passed out right after giving me the medicine. 

Then they show Foxface stealing the berries as if it’s a funny moment. How she puts them to her lips, chews, and turns blue. How she falls down and the cannon goes off, and cuts to me with knitted brows. Now I’ve not only killed her, I’ve seen her die.

Cato and the mutts feel like distant memories already. I’m stunned to see how the mutts closed in on Cato in the woods and how long he’d been running before reaching the Cornucopia. The agony after Cato falls off is edited to be shorter and ends with Katniss shooting him when it’s dawn again. Nothing about the endless nightmare of that night, nothing about our confusion at the delayed win.

The berries are last. I watch how Katniss and I hold hands and prepare to end our lives because neither of us can kill the other. Then come the trumpets announcing our victory and the tape ends with a shot of Katniss pounding on glass doors in the hovercraft as I lie on a metal slab, an army of doctors around me. I grit my teeth to stop myself from tearing up. 

The anthem plays again and then President Snow appears on stage, followed by a young girl carrying an ornate pillow with a crown. The crowd starts murmuring. With two victors, who will get the crown? I watch as he twists the crown and it deftly splits into two neat halves. He places one half of it one my head, smiling at me as he does so. I do my best to smile back. Then he does the same for Katniss, who’s still holding my hand. 

We stand up again and wave at the audience and the cameras. Caesar Flickerman bids everyone goodnight after what feels like an eternity of waving and bowing. Tomorrow is the final interview before we go home. 

After the show is the Victory Banquet, where Capitol officials and sponsors flock to us to get their pictures taken or talk about our victory. One of them proudly tells me they’re the one who paid for the sleep syrup. I nod mechanically, smiling brightly. Effie would be proud of me right now. The rest of the night goes by much the same, and despite it being a banquet, I barely find time to eat. I barely even have time to think. But Katniss isn’t letting go of my hand and it makes it all more bearable.

We walk back slowly to the Training Centre and I can see the sun starting to rise in the sky. I’m exhausted and happy for the prospect of being alone again after being surrounded by strangers all night. I’m still clasping Katniss’ hand and hope to get some time alone with her before we sleep. My cane makes soft thudding sounds on the floor. Katniss hasn’t asked about it, so I figure they’ve told her why I have it. Or maybe she’ll ask about it when we’re in the apartment. But when we get to our apartment, Haymitch sends me off with Portia to do some fittings for my interview costume. I steal a glance back at Katniss and find her looking as confused as I am. Portia takes me into my room and puts a tape measure on me, telling me it’s because the fit of my last outfit wasn’t quite right. I don’t object and let her do her job; she’s been nothing but kind to me. I’m sure I’ll be able to talk to Katniss soon.

When Portia leaves, I realise that I won’t be able to form a coherent sentence if I try to talk now. I’m sure Katniss is tired as well. The sun is well and truly up though, so I push some buttons that make my room dark as night and fall asleep in my underwear. Katniss is the last person I see in my mind before I drift off.

Effie raps on my door to alert me of yet another ‘big, big, big day!’. I rub my eyes and feel like I haven’t slept at all. A quick glance at the clock tells me it’s only early afternoon. Putting the prosthetic on is difficult through bleary eyes, but I manage it after a few tries. I dress and walk to breakfast and eat some porridge and stew, even managing to get in a few sips of hot chocolate. It’s still the most delicious thing I’ve ever tasted. Then the prep team is upon me and leads me back to my room. They’re possibly even more excited than they were yesterday. Portia comes in with the outfit she’s taken in and I put it on. My shirt is a soft white, the fabric silky smooth. I have on red pants, looking like some kind of cake. My hair is less styled than it’s been before. They’ve let my natural waves free on my forehead. In the mirror, I’m no longer shocked to see myself.

The interview is in the sitting room of the apartment. The insect-like cameras have become familiar to me now, their lenses trained on the spot where we’ll sit soon. After the audience from last night, this setting feels oddly lowkey. I see Katniss talking with Caesar Flickerman and steal her away before we have to start.

“I hardly get to see you. Haymitch seems bent on keeping us apart.” I say, frowning. It can’t be anyone but him ordering us to stay apart. You’d think he’d let us alone to enjoy our new lives at least a little bit.

“Yes, he’s gotten very responsible lately.” She says lightly, glancing around us.

“Well, there’s just this and we go home. Then he can’t watch us all the time.” I say reassuringly. They call us to the sitting room and we sit down on the red velvet couch again. Caesar Flickerman flashes us one of his brilliant smiles as we get settled.

“Oh, go ahead and curl up next to him if you want. It looked very sweet.” He says to Katniss. So she tucks her feet under her white dress and leans into me again. I pull her even closer.

The interview begins and Caesar puts on his jovial presenter personality once again. He’s perfectly entertaining, asking all kinds of questions about how we felt in certain situations and tearing up when I give a difficult answer. I find myself answering most of the questions, because Katniss is silent by my side and redirects questions to me every chance she gets. I know she doesn’t like talking about herself like this, so I don’t mind taking the lead. 

“Well, Peeta, we know, from our days in the cave, that it was love at first sight for you from what, age five?” Caesar asks. I nod.

“From the moment I laid eyes on her.” I say, looking from him to Katniss.

“But Katniss, what a ride for you. I think the real excitement for the audience was watching you fall for him. When did you realise you were in love with him?” Caesar asks, and I can’t say I’m not curious about that myself. Our time in the arena changed everything. And I know I wouldn’t dare ask her this question myself.

“Oh, that’s a hard one…” She laughs quietly, looking down at her hands.

“Well, I know when it hit me. The night you shouted out his name from that tree.” Caesar says earnestly. I remember the shot of her saying it during the recap.

“Yes, I guess that was it. I mean, until that point, I just tried not to think about what my feelings might be, honestly. Because it was so confusing and it only made things worse if I actually cared about him. But then, in the tree, everything changed.” She says, and I feel warm again at her words. At the idea of Katniss not admitting to herself that she had feelings for me until there was hope for us again.

“Why do you think that was?” Caesar asks.

“Maybe… because for the first time… there was a chance I could keep him.” She replies. Caesar takes a handkerchief and dabs at his eyes. I put my forehead against Katniss’ temple and smile privately.

“So now that you’ve got me, what are you going to do with me?” I ask cheekily.

“Put you somewhere you can’t get hurt.” She says with a smile. I kiss her then, forgetting about anyone else in the room.

Caesar starts a topic of ways we did end up getting hurt in the arena. He walks us through the cuts, the tracker jackers, the blasts. Even the burns from the artificial fire. Then he talks about the mutts. 

“Peeta, how is your new leg working out?” Caesar asks. I’m about to reply when Katniss cuts in. “New leg?”

She lifts up the end of my pants and gasps at my prosthetic, dropping the hem again quickly.

“Oh, no.” She whispers, clearly in shock. She sits back against the couch as if her breath was knocked out of her.

“No one told you?” Caesar asks gently, looking between us. Katniss simply shakes her head.

“I haven’t had the chance.” I say, shrugging a little. But this means that no one else thought to inform Katniss, either. Did they want her to find out on camera? I wouldn’t be surprised if they did.

“It’s my fault.” Katniss says quickly. “Because I used that tourniquet.” The guilt is clear in her face, in her voice.

“Yes, it’s your fault I’m alive.” I say quietly, lifting up her chin so she looks at me. Her ingenious solution saved me from bleeding out. And I certainly didn’t help myself by loosening it at the end.

“He’s right. He’d have bled to death for sure without it.” Caesar reasons, and I’m glad he does. Maybe it’ll make Katniss believe that she’s helped me. She buries her face in my shirt and we have to coax her for a few minutes before she reappears. I think she might cry when she emerges, but instead she takes my hand and holds it tightly. I put my free arm around her once more.

Caesar talks some more about the tracker jackers and various other threats in the arena, until he brings up the berries.

“Katniss, I know you’ve had a shock, but I’ve got to ask. The moment when you pulled out those berries. What was going on in your mind.... hm?” He asks. Katniss waits a while before she responds, finding the words. That moment feels like a blur, a nightmare of uncertainty and grief. I wouldn’t even know how to explain it myself.

“I don’t know.” She says in the end. “I just… couldn’t bear the thought of… being without him.” Her voice is quiet and fragile, making me squeeze her hand.

“Peeta? Anything to add?” Caesar asks. But it’s the core of the matter.

“No. I think that goes for both of us.” I say. Caesar nods and finishes the interview. We wave goodnight at the cameras and then it’s over. Everyone in the room is either laughing or crying, and people are hugging all over the place. Effie finds me and gives me a hug so tight I’m surprised about her strength. Portia and Cinna congratulate me. 

I go back to my room to get my things, but there’s nothing. They must have thrown the drawstring from the cloth bag away, not realising it was in my pocket. It doesn’t matter now. I’m going home.

A whirlwind of people maneuver us into cars with blacked out windows and we drive through a deserted Capitol. It’s like everyone is recovering from the intensity of the Games. A train is waiting for us at a platform and the sight of it makes my heart jump. We’re finally leaving the Capitol! 

Portia and Cinna stand on the platform to wave us off and we barely have time to thank them and tell them goodbye. Normally, we’ll see them in a few months for the victory tour, where we’ll visit every district as a reminder to everyone that their children are dead, essentially. The thought is already making me feel horrible.

We settle down on the train and I catch Portia’s eyes. She waves at me and I wave back. I’ll miss her most of all the people I’ve met here. Then we start rolling out of the station and the Capitol starts to shrink with every passing second. Much like when we left from District 12, it feels like we’re already a world away.

Haymitch and Effie are with us on this trip and we have an enormous dinner before watching a rerun of the interview. I have two cups of hot chocolate for dessert and vow to have it at least once a week. Katniss excuses herself to go to her room and returns looking like how she looks at home. She scrubbed off the makeup, wearing simple clothes, her hair braided back. The girl I fell in love with. Though I find her beautiful in any way I’ve ever seen her.

The train makes a fuel stop and Haymitch tells us we can go outside if we want. We’ll finally get some time alone now. The Capitol’s influence already seems far away now that we’re travelling again. Katniss and I walk hand in hand along the train track, the cane in my other hand to help me. After the long night of standing up at the Banquet, I notice that my leg is more tired than it usually is. The cane is, once again, a welcome companion. 

We walk in silence and I scour the ground until I find what I’m looking for. Some wildflowers grow by the side of the tracks and I bend down slowly to gather some for Katniss. I present them to her proudly and she smiles when she takes them. But her expression falls and she looks far away from me again.

“What’s wrong?” I ask. Something in her expression makes my stomach lurch.

“Nothing.” She says simply, and I don’t push her. We walk along in silence again. I keep waiting for her to tell me, thinking that maybe she’s just searching for the right words. This silence between us makes me feel uneasy, as if we don’t have anything to talk about anymore. How is that possible?

Haymitch startles both of us by appearing at our side. 

“Great job, you two. Just keep it up in the district until the cameras are gone. We should be okay.” He’s patting Katniss on the back, then stalks back to the train. Katniss won’t look me in the eyes.

“What’s he mean?” I ask, utterly confused at his words. What are we supposed to keep up?

“It’s the Capitol.” Katniss explains finally. “They didn’t like our stunt with the berries.” 

“What? What are you talking about?” A stunt? We were only trying to find a way out that we’d both be okay with. I was prepared to die. The Capitol crowning both of us victors was their decision, not ours.

“It seemed too rebellious. So Haymitch has been coaching me through the last few days. So I didn’t make it worse.” She says. My heart sinks.

“Coaching you? But not me.” I say.

“He knew you were smart enough to get it right.” She says, looking down. 

“I didn’t know there was anything to get right.” I say, my chest tightening. If I could get ‘it’ right and Katniss needed a coach, then maybe Haymitch has been helping her even more than I thought he did. Realisation hits me.

“So, what you’re saying is, these last few days and then I guess… back in the arena.... that was just some strategy you two worked out.” I say, feeling hurt and confusion mingling through me as I voice what I think. 

“No. I mean, I couldn’t even talk to him in the arena, could I?” She stammers.

“But you knew what he wanted you to do, didn’t you?” I ask. Katniss bites her lip and doesn’t say a word.

“Katniss?” I say again, but still no reply. I drop her hand from mine and steady myself on the cane instead. I can’t believe this.

“It was all for the Games. How you acted.” I say, the words making my head spin.

“Not all of it.” She says, still holding the small bouquet I gave her.

“Then how much? No, forget that.” I correct myself. I don’t know if I want to know the answer. “I guess the real question is what’s going to be left when we get home?” I was a fool to think about lazy days in 12, keeping each other company. A fool for believing I could turn her head. I was so blinded. I didn’t see it coming that maybe Katniss wasn’t in love with me at all.

“I don’t know. The closer we get to District 12, the more confused I get.” She says. I wait for her to say more, but nothing comes. 

“Well, let me know when you work it out.” I say, the hurt and betrayal barely concealed in my voice. I walk back to the train by myself, my mind racing with everything that just happened. 

I eat dinner in my room on the train that night, looking out at the passing districts. I can’t discern any of them. It takes me an hour to finish the meal but I push through, not wanting to let anything go to waste. That’s not how I was raised, and the Capitol can’t change that about me. They’ve already changed too much. I go to bed early but toss and turn all night, thinking about every little instance that I mistook for genuine emotion. Katniss’ confessions feel fake now, her smiles and touches tainted. Every kiss we shared is now stolen instead of granted. I feel dirty for it, for all of the touches and words that I know weren’t truly welcome. My heart clenches thinking about how she must have felt when we kissed. Whatever she might tell herself about survival in the arena and how she needed to pretend to love me in order to save herself, I don’t want to hear it right now. I was fooled just like the Capitol, taken in like an idiot. Maybe I was seeing things that weren’t there; maybe I was willing her to be with me. I certainly didn’t shy away from her touch. The fact that Katniss fell in love with me so quickly had flattered me, but it wasn’t real. Why would it be? But then I try to remember that I never forced her to do anything. Her actions are her own choice. And she’s made it now, no matter what I feel. I stare at the ceiling of the train, my thoughts a jumbled mess of emotions. My anger makes place for sadness and after that, nothing. 

The next time I see Katniss is when we start rolling into District 12’s small station. I join her side as I see the crowd and cameras filling up every inch of the platform. After not sleeping a wink, I’ve come to a state of numbness. I’ll figure everything out without cameras buzzing around me, without Katniss around me pretending. When I extend my hand toward her, I feel like I’m far removed from my body, from Katniss. 

“One more time? For the audience?” I say, my voice hollow. One last time to show them what a happy pair we are before we stop talking to each other unless we have to. I won’t force Katniss to be in my life. I sigh as she takes my hand, my heart still jumping at her touch. But I tell it to rest easy. Because I know I’ve lost her the moment she lets go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've made it to the very end I want to say, from the bottom of my heart: thank you. Thank you thank you thank you for taking the time to read my work.  
> Seeing kudos and comments appear is such a rewarding feeling and it's those small things that encourage me to write.  
> I truly hope you've enjoyed reading my interpretation of Peeta. He's my favourite character of all time and it means a lot that you were willing to sit through me figuring out his thoughts and feelings.  
> I don't know if there's interest in this, but I have started tentatively planning Catching Fire. I don't know how long it'll take me to write it or if I'll get to it quickly, but know that if you've read my fic, you're part of the reason I even have the courage to attempt it.  
> Thank you for being awesome, and I hope you have a great day <3
> 
> Jill


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